Past Bonnie is such a brat.

There's a lot of reasons I hate past Bonnie.

To start with, she's a total brat.  She doesn't let me forget anything, happy or sad.  She's constantly reminding me, "Hey you remember what happened this day three years ago?"  "Hey, you remember what happened the last time you were in this restaurant?"  "Hey you remember where you were going the last time you wore this shirt?!?"  Seriously, that girl is annoying.  I'm trying to get her off my back for good, but she's a tenacious little sucker and she don't want to go nowhere.

And so... because past Bonnie won't let me drop it, I guess I'll share it with all of you.

Past Bonnie would like you to know what she was up to TWO years ago today.  Any of you want to hanker a guess?

No?  Me neither.

Alright, past Bonnie, why don't you just tell us?

ANSWER:  Past Bonnie was enjoying her first ever kiss with Mr. Hubs himself.  Twas a night of excitement and butterflies and oodles and oodles of twitterpation.

Um.... I guess Past Bonnie has another one for you.  She wants you to guess what she was doing  ONE year ago today.

Do you want to guess?

No?  Okay I don't blame you, Past Bonnie's games are really lame.

One year ago today Past Bonnie was traipsing all over freaking Europe.

Can we all just agree now that she's self centered, rude, and totally oblivious to what the rest of us are going through right now?!?

I don't think I'd be so frustrated with Past Bonnie if Present Bonnie wasn't having such a totally lame August 6.  Let's see... she worked on some writing, answered some emails, got her driver's license renewed (more on that tomorrow, but it was a complete DEBACLE), oh, and then she found out that she wasn't approved for the apartment that she is supposed to be moving into in 48 HOURS.  Yah, Present Bonnie isn't loving everything about her life right now.  And Past Bonnie just has to do her annoying thing and rub it in.

I guess that's why I have Future Bonnie.  She reminds me that one day I'll live in an apartment with my very own washer and dryer, one day there will be no more lines at the DMV, and one day, maybe one day, I'll be traipsing around Europe again.

(P.S.  If you emailed me about sponsoring a medium ad over the weekend and I didn't email you back, PLEASE email me again.  You said "I want to send you 800 pennies" or something equally cute and funny.  I planned to respond to the email today and it has literally vanished into thin air.  LITERALLY.)

A post in which I take five children out rafting on the lake during a thunderstorm

Do you or do you not love hearing about other peoples' weekends?

THIS weekend for us was a big Blackburn family get together at our family cabin.  Six of the eight Blackburn kids were there (R.I.P. Mary and Dennis... we'll see you at next summer's family gathering, suckers!) and 13 of the 14 grandchildren graced us with their presence.  Have you ever been in a cabin for 2 days with 13 kids aged 2-13?

IT IS PURE MADNESS, I TELL YOU. PURE MADNESS!

But the good kind of madness.

Here's the little darlings watching Ice Age.  Please notice Josie all the way on the right.  She has completely stolen Hubs' heart and run away with it.  The way he looks at this girl, I start to think I might never get my husband back.

Did I say there were a lot of kids at the cabin?  There were.
Did I mention how many adults were there? Just as many.
Thirteen adults.  Thirteen children.
Once the little angels were in bed the adults stayed up and got buck wild crazy.  You should see us play cards!

Is that me shepherding five children in a raft in the middle of a thunderstorm?
YES!
YES IT IS!

Friday the weather was crappy all day.
Sorry, mom, for saying crappy.
But it was.

We wanted to take the kids out on the lake, but rainy weather forced us to stay inside and watch movies and play cards instead.

Saturday we were determined hell or high water to take the kids out on the lake.
As soon as we got out there it started raining.  Literally the second the rafts touched the water.

And doesn't this all look very safe?

Hubs descibes me as "intense." From the above picture, you would never guess it, would you?!?

It wasn't easy paddling that raft.  I could have used some man help.  My sister's husband, Ben, hung off the raft and was not exactly the kind of help I was looking for.  I guess beggars can't be choosers, huh?

Hubs stayed on shore.  He likes places that are safe and comfortable.  I like places that are risky and adventurous.  This is his Native American face.  Also, please feel free to make fun of him for wearing a jacket to the lake.

As soon as we got out of the lake, the skies cleared right up.  Naturally.  I'm not even exaggerating about this.  We were in the lake for five minutes and that was exactly the five minutes of the day that it rained.  Once the skies cleared up I tried to get the kids to get back in the water but by then they were already traumatized/soaking wet/miserable/crying/other things that kids seem to be so much of the time.  It was a futile endeavor.

Hubs with his new girlfriend.  Can you see the hunger in his eyes for a baby girl of his own?  It's hard to resist, even I'll admit that.

While Hubs colored with the new gf, I was left to entertain the four year olds.  We played a game that four year olds are capable of playing, so that should tell you right there how awesome the game was.  I handled it like a champ.  Best aunt award goes to.... drumroll... BONNIE!!!!!

Hubs might be hankering for a sweet baby girl, but I'm thinking (contrary to my earlier thoughts) that I'll take a cute little boy.  Like this one.  He's my nephew, Matthew, and I just can't help but feel like a million bucks when he snuggles up with me and gives me a sly little smile.  And then I have to stop and wonder... is this why people have children?

And now, if you will please answer my question...

DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT LIKE HEARING ABOUT OTHER PEOPLES' WEEKENDS?

Happy Birthday baby cakes

This stud muffin is turning 24 today.

I knew I wanted to kiss this boy the hot, summer night that he and his roommates came over to my apartment to play cards.  He spent the evening making googly-oogly eyes with me and occasionally brushing my arm, sending those notorious butterflies fluttering up and down my spine.

I knew I wanted to be his girlfriend when we watched mediocre fireworks at a small hick town fair.  He looked over at me as the sky lit up and said, "Let's keep dating, ok?"  And I said, "Yah, ok."

I knew I wanted to marry him when he laid next to me on a bunkbed in his parents' basement and said softly and so sincerely, "Bon?  I don't ever want to break up with you.  Ever."

I knew I wanted to stay married forever and ever after an argument when he came into the bedroom and said, "I know we're upset.  But you have to make me one promise.  No matter what, we never ever ever entertain the idea of divorce."  And I said, "I promise."


I knew I wanted to have his babies yesterday when I said, "Umm.... one of your birthday presents might be a little late," and he replied, "That's okay.  I can wait nine months."



Happy Birthday Hubs!!!  Here's to a lifetime of celebrating birthdays together.

And no.  He's not getting a baby for his birthday. 

But one day.

Who volunteers to follow me around with a camera?

Oh Memorial Day
How I Love Thee
Let Me Count the Ways...

Saturday morning Hubs and I headed down to Moab, the red rock city of Utah, where he was performing at the Moab Arts Festival.  Now, before you look at all these pictures, I think it might be about time in my blogging journey to give a little disclaimer.

My pictures suck compared to other bloggers' pictures. 

There you have it.  I've said it and I'm not ashamed of it.  There's a couple of reasons why my pics are no good, and since I know you're all at your desks wondering why, I will tell you.  But you owe me for this, YOU OWE ME.

#1: I straight up don't enjoy taking pictures.  At all.  I hate when I'm having such a great time, a picture perfect moment if you will, and I think "Oh, I have to take a picture of this."  Why can't I just enjoy the moment?  I hate getting other people to look at the camera, I hate asking strangers to take pictures for us, I hate organizing and uploading and editing pictures.
 
#2: The flash on my camera is broken.  My camera is also somewhat cheap.  The pics don't look that great.  You have to do a lot of fiddling and a lot of adjusting to get a picture to look somewhat decent on my camera.

#3:  Because of reason #2 and also because I have no picture taking skills in the world, my pictures rarely never look that good and then I'm just bugged.  Have you seen some bloggers' pictures?  They have the most beautiful pictures of them doing EVERYTHING... playing with their kids, pushing strollers, eating dinner.  A few weeks ago I read a post from a well known blogger who had bought fruit from a sidewalk stand.  On the post were several pictures of her examining the fruit, buying the fruit, carrying the fruit.  BUYING FRUIT FOR PETE'S SAKE!  All of the pictures were extremely well taken, with beautiful lighting, and vivid clarity.  What I want to know is this:  WHO THE HELL IS FOLLOWING HER AROUND TAKING PICTURES OF HER?  AND HOW DO I GET ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE?
(Sorry for the cuss word mom!  That's two days in a row I've cussed in my post.  I'll cut it out, I promise.)

And now, without further ado, a few crappily taken pictures of my weekend:

 I don't know about you, but I think he's about the gosh darn cutest girl there ever was. Just look at those flirty eyes!

I was sitting close to this red shirted man during Hubs' performance in Midsummer Night's Dream.  He was making this face throughout the entirety of the show.  Just absolutely delighted and pleased.  You can't ask for better audience members than that, can you?

It was Hubs' and my first camping trip together.  EVER!  This is the morning after... you can't beat a baseball cap when you know you look like crap. 

Hubs refused to be in the picture in the morning.  Some people don't have the confidence to show off their dirty faces and nasty clothes after 24 hours of being outdoors.  Lucky for me, I do.

This campsite took us over an hour to find.  When ten people try to find a campsite at 11pm on Saturday night on Memorial day weekend in the most popular camping town in Utah... well, they ain't gonna have a lot of luck.  I was about ready to kill someone, and we almost had to make the 3.5 hour trip to Provo right then and there, but then miracle of miracles, we found a spot.

Wondering why there's a ladder in the middle of our campsite? 
Aren't we all, aren't we all.

Other highlights of the weekend include a campfire that went late into the night with witty jokes and clever games, a quiet visit to my dad's grave with Hubs, barbeques with both sides of the family where we obliterated my nephew in a game of tetherball, watched a dog terrorize a baby, watched three kids terrorize a dog, and ate a lot of really yummy food. 

But, of course, there are no pictures of those things.  Because I was enjoying the moment too much, too lost in enjoyment and satisfaction to worry about snapping a picture of it all.  Because I didn't feel like getting up and looking for my camera, instead I felt like sitting back and feeling the sun on my cheeks.

IS THAT SUCH A CRIME?!?

Oh Mama!

Love this picture of my mom.  It's on the Pakistan/India border with Indian soldiers.
She's showing them pictures of her family.
She could make friends with a wooden fence, I swear.

I knew my mom was something special the day I got my wisdom teeth taken out.  I was in college and lived 90 minutes away from my parents.  I decided not tell my parents that I was getting the old molars pulled.  I was striving for independence.  I wanted to be an adult and do adult like things- like getting teeth pulled- without the help of my parentals. 

The morning of the surgery I was having second thoughts.  I had never gone under with anesthesia and the little girl in me wanted my mama here during this scary moment.  I figured if I could at least talk to my mom, I would be okay.  I called her on the phone and when I told her that I was getting my wisdom teeth out in ten minutes she sounded so sad that she couldn't be there.  

When I came out of the surgery an hour later, my friend drove me home and propped me up on the couch where I quickly dozed off.  When I woke back up, my mom was at my apartment.  She had brought juice and soup and yogurt and gatorade.  She changed the bloody gauze in the back of my mouth and fluffed the pillow and got me the remote and asked if I needed more Loratab.  Just like that she had rearranged her day, driven through two canyons, and been there for me when I needed her.  And I hadn't even bothered to give her an hour's heads up.

That's when I knew my mom was something else.

Happy Mother's Day to all! 
Unless you're a father.  Today's not your day.

April Fools: A History

My passion for April Fools runs deep and true.

What is better than a day to skip out on work and school, play jokes on your friends all day, and prank to your heart's delight?

My obsession with April Fool's Day came in high school.  I had the genius idea to put flyers on all the cars parked at Albertson's that read: "HUGE ELECTRONIC SALE!  EVERYTHING MUST GO!  MOVING OUT OF COUNTRY IN THREE DAYS"  and below list insanely cheap prices for big screen tvs, laptops, sound systems, etc.  At the bottom I put my best friend's name and phone number.

The phone calls she received were relentless.  She was clueless as to the prank, just knew that she was receiving phone call after phone call after phone call.  I laughed silently to myself, never letting her know it was me.  She was driven to insanity by the ever-ringing phone. 
The prank was a success. 
I was a genius. 
And from that day forward, I declared myself the April Fool's Master.
The next year, as a freshman in college, I tried similar pranks.  I did the electronic prank to my then-boyfriend.  I hung my roommates' bras and undies from the ceiling.  I mixed up all the pots and pans in the cupboards.  Year two: Success

The insanity continued on the next year.  With a whole new set of roommates and a new boyfriend, I tried variations of the same tricks.  This time I stole all of my roommates' underwear, threw it in a huge plastic sack, and then flew the coup, driving home to Price for the weekend.  I was gone for three days with the bag, and my roommates remained underwearless for the duration of that time.  What was more, they couldn't find anything in the kitchen.  I put the bag of chips in the pots and pan drawer, the silverware in the fridge, the plates in the oven.  Year three of pranking:  Success.

That's me in the middle- trying to scare people with a diguise.  Just one of many, many pranks.

From then on out, the pranks only intensifed. I had found something I was good at, and I thrived with my newfound talent, preparing all year long for the big day. 

The next year, my roommates were now well aware of my April Fools antics. So while I was busy putting flyers all over town with their names on it, they were retaliating. They locked my door, stole my car, they changed the names of contacts in my phone and sent me weird messages from ex boyfriends and new crushes.  I, in turn, retaliated in what I believe to be the best April Fool's prank of all time. Through an internet site called PeterAnswers.com, I made them one hundred percent believe that the apartment was possessed. So scared were they that they about dang near got the bishop of our church to come over and rededicate the apartment to cast out the evil spirits. Some would say I had gone too far. I would say it wasn't quite far enough.

You can tell from this picture that we're a pranking-loving gang, can't you?

Year five of April Fool's I was on a mission in Argentina.  But this didn't stop me from pranking my American companion.  I set all the clocks back two hours, forcing us to get up and go on a run at 4:30 in the morning, instead of the usual 6:30.  Then, we called the Elders and told them we were being emergency transferred for flirting too much.  The Elders freaked.  Year five: Success.

The next year brought me back home to Provo, Utah, and living with my same roommates of old.  April Fools, seemingly innocent and playful, bordered on cruel. We stayed up all night on March 31, popping popcorn to put in plastic bags and tape to people's doors so that when they opened the door the popcorn would go pouring in to their home.  We put peanut butter under people's car doors.  I filled my boyfriend's room with infinte pieces of shredded paper (Hubs is so lucky that he met me in July and not in March), covering every corner of the room.   You don't have to tell me that I was the world's worst girlfriend.  I already know.  I spent the day pranking my roommates, filling plates of paper with water and covering their bedroom floor, locking doors, changing phone numbers.  We pranked all day and all night, and when midnight rolled around and it was April 2, I prided myself on a job well done.  A few friends were mad at me, sure, a few were offended, yes, a few hated me with a passion, but hey, the day was a success!

And then.  My last year of April Fools pranks.  I started off the day like all April Fools, with middle of the night escapades and pranks.  Student teaching that year, I told all my students we had a massive test.  Then I told them my I-pod was missing and one of them had stolen it.  No one would leave the classroom until it was found.  I made them sit in uncomfortable, awkward silence for several minutes before I finally said those magic words, "APRIL FOOLS!"  I made flyers saying that a friend had free conference tickets and posted them all over campus.  I put my friend's name on Craig List with a post that they had several job openings (You gotta know how to take advantage of a recession, people!).  I worked for over an hour trying to capture a duck to put in one of my best friend's room.  I was unwearing in my efforts.

This was also the year that I started forming alliances.  I promised friends to help them prank someone else, while at the same time, scheming a prank on them behind their backs with another friend.  CrazyA had been married that December, and her husband, Cody, enlisted my help to prank my roommate, Mandy to pay her back for last year's April Fools.  Naturally, I hopped right on board.  Cody shredded thousands of newspapers and his dad's work, and we communicated all day long, me unlocking the apartment for him and letting him know when Mandy would be out that day.  When I came home from teaching that day I checked out Mandy's room.  It was a foot high with shreds of newspaper and wood chips.  Even I was impressed with Cody's thoroughness.

Tired from my endless pranking and chasing after a duck, I laid down to take a nap.  I was awoken half an hour later by frantic shrieks, cries, screaming, whatever you call it when a girl is having a major major freak out over the phone. 

"I HATE HIM!  HE PUT IT ALL OVER MY ROOM!  I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!  HE WENT TOO FAR!  I AM SERIOUSLY SO MAD!  I AM FREAKING OUT" (right, because we couldn't tell that already.)  I sat silently on my bed, terrified.  Mandy had obviously not been humored by the joke.  She was irate.  Stressed.  Hurt.  On the verge of a complete meltdown. 

I left my room carefully, tiptoeing down the hall to assess the damage.  Mandy, tears streaming down her face, turned to look at me.  "Look at what Cody did!!  This is such a joke!  I am so stressed right now, I have two huge exams and I don't have time to clean up all this crap!  I can't believe it!"  Mandy was in absolute tears, not seeing anything funny in her disastrous bedroom.

"I seriously hate April Fool's so much!" she continued. "People think they are being cute and funny, but they're not! They're just being rude and annoying and making other people miserable." I nodded sympathetically.  She had no idea I was a part of it.  And I intended to keep it that way.

"I'll help you clean it up, Mand, I'm so sorry this happened to you," I tried to veil my guilt.  I spent the rest of that night trying to help Mandy clean up the room.  The vaccuum didn't come close to being able to clean it up, and the little pieces of paper were scattered in every corner of Mandy's room.  We were interrupted only by a few strangers knocking on my door, saying they had been told to come to this address for conference tickets, part of someone else's April Fools joke.  Fools, indeed.

As I helped Mandy clean up shreds of paper from her underwear drawer and DVD cases and homework assignments, it finally dawned on me. 

I had gone too far.  Done too much.  April Fools is not nice.  People don't like mean pranks, and it's not fun when you're the victim.  In that moment, trying to make up for the damage I had done, I vowed to end my April Fooling ways.  You can't just prank to death the people that you love every year.  They won't want to be your friends anymore.

And so, last year, I sat April Fools out almost completely, only playing a mild joke on my students.  This year, with April Fools falling on a Sunday and on Conference, I decided to not do a single joke.  I have put my people-hurting-pranking ways completely away.  From here on out, April Fools is just another day to me.

Well....

At least this year.

You'll never know how I'll be feeling next year.

You've been warned.

(P.S.  Did you win the earring giveaway?)

Come on Down! You are a winner!

Well, well, well, it's about high time that I announce the winners of our Baby Bonnie giveaway.

And the winners are...


EVERYBODY!  Everybody who entered the giveaway gets a pair of earrings from Crazy A!!!!
Aren't you all so stoked?!??!

APRIL FOOLS!

I know I'm awful, I just couldn't resist.

There are only two winners.  Please.  Like Amy could afford to give EVERYONE a pair of earrings.  I mean, she probably could.  Who knows?  I just don't think she would.  That's 64 pairs of earrings, people.

And sorry about the mean April Fools joke.  I just had to.  You see, April Fools and I have a long relationship that goes back years and years.  Don't worry, you'll get to hear all about my juicy April Fools tales in just a few hours.

And now... the REAL winners...............

Paige @ The Last Doughnut who commented: I love the Jet Black Vintage Rhinestone earrings. Beautiful!

and

Clare who commented : I just told everyone that your BFF is naming her baby after you... JK. But I did tweet about your giveaway, tell people that I like birds, and share the fact that I think you are hilarious. I can prove it: https://twitter.com/clarewilk/statuses/184802295043719168

Congratulations chicas!  The first girl to contact me will get to choose the earrings... you're choosing between the sparrows and the owls.  Email me at lifeofbon@gmail.com with your address and your choice of earrings and we will get those sweet little earrings on their way to you.  (If it makes a different, the sparrows dangle about an inch longer than the owls.)

I salute you, Campus Policemen!

Happy Valentine's Day to all- and to all a good night!

Hubs and I had a quiet, peaceful Valentine's Day.

We went out to our favorite Mexican restaurant, Joe Vera's, gorged ourselves in chips and salsa, sipped soda until we were going to puke, hunkered down on juicy steaks, and then somehow found an entirely different stomach to fit in a little deep fried ice cream.

While eating we watched youtube videos of the phenomenon that is Jeremy Lin and talked about how we are going to survive now that the Jazz no longer have a winning record.

Were we made for each other or what?

On a completely unrelated note, every couple of weeks, my alma mater, BYU, releases a police report with their newspaper.  (I feel like this sentence has way too many commas, but for the life of me, I can't figure out which ones are unnecessary.  HELP!)  You know- criminal activity, drug cartel, the many rapes and murders.  I should warn you beforehand, this is a private religious university in a religious college town.  Let's just say the cops don't have as much to keep them busy as one would hope.  (Hence, my extensive history with traffic tickets.)

And now, without further ado, I present to you....
 

THE POLICE BEAT

Theft
Feb. 8 – A student reported his bike stolen from the JSB bike lot. The lost bike and specialized helmet were worth about $350. The student said he did not lock the bike.

Feb. 10 – A student reported his bike stolen from the new Heritage Hall area. He said he did not lock the bike because he lost the lock.

Feb. 12 – A female student reported her iPhone stolen at the Cannon Center. While eating in the cafeteria, she left her phone on the table and went to get more food. When she came back, the iPhone was gone.

Verbal Altercation
Feb. 8 – Two male individuals were reported having a verbal altercation in the Smith Fieldhouse. One of them was a student, the other was not. They were arguing about a girl they both knew and dated.

Missing
Feb. 8 – An 11-year-old boy was reported missing at the Smith Fieldhouse by his father. They occasionally come to work out together. A BYU police officer was dispatched. A custodian reported the missing boy, who was wandering around in the building, to the officer. There was no crime and the boy was reunited with his family.

Feb. 12 – A husband resident of Wymount Terrace reported a missing wife. He told the officer his wife had not come back from grocery shopping. During the interview, the wife walked into the room.

Criminal mischief
Feb. 14 – Graffiti was found on a metal pole at the point of Maeser Hill. It was soon removed.

Animals
Feb. 8 – A deer was caught in the metal fence around the BYU Student Health Center area. The deer was soon freed.

Wow, rough week on the job for the Provo police, huh?  What, with the woman missing at the grocery store, the deer caught in the fence, and the two boys arguing over a chick they both liked, I don't know how those policemen survived!

My favorite line:  "A husband resident of Wymount Terrace".  What exactly is a husband resident?  And how does that differ from an aunt resident?  How about a grandpa resident?

A most romantic conversation

Today is Valentine's Day.

Naturally, Hubs and I have been having many romantic, sexy conversations all day long.

POR EJEMPLO:
Hubs and I were talking about a certain celebrity that Hubs is not a fan of.  His exact words:

"I would rather make out with a good looking man than make out with that woman because she looks just like an ugly man."

I mean, does this guy know how to talk sweet or what?!?

Doesn't get much sexier than this, does it people?

The day I stole underwear

I never thought I would be the type of person to steal lingerie.

It is a desperate woman who strips a mannequin of her underwear.  Today that person was me.

Twas the best of times, Twas the worst of times.

Ummmm... I am having some trouble starting this post.  Afterall, how do you admit to the world that you hijacked a pair of underwear from Victoria's Secret?  Tell me!  How do you confess such a thing to the blogosphere?!?

It wasn't my fault.  I swear.  Fast forward to last weekend when I was casually shopping  and wandered into V.S. to look at some Valentine Day lingerie.  One piece of clothing (can you call it that?) caught my eye.  I tried it on.  I liked it. I decided to buy it.

Stop there.  There was already a never ending line on this Saturday afternoon, and I was already late to meet Hubs for lunch.  I looked at my watch.  The underwear would have to wait.

Rewind to today.  I strolled on into Victoria's Secret, confident as sin that I could buy my little pair of undies and head right back out the door, no problem.  I looked around casually first so to appear that I wasn't some kind of an underwear freak who knew exactly what she wanted upon entering the store.  You can't just make a beeline for something in a lingerie store, people!  Others will think you're a freak!

So I played it cool.  Looked at lingerie I knew I wouldn't buy.  Slowly made my way over to the display where my coveted undies were calling my name.  Once I arrived at the display, however, I discovered, much to my dismay, that said underwear was sold out.

SOLD OUT, I TELL YOU!

OUT OUT OUT!  How does V.S. sell out of its sexiest undies four days before its biggest day of the year?!?  You don't see Santa running out of toys on December 21, do you?  Step up Victoria's Secret, and learn how to run a business for crying out loud!

That's when I saw the mannequin.  Mannequin wearing MY underwear.  Taunting.  Waving.  Seducing me.  That underwear could be mine in the blink of an eye with one quick maneuver.  I looked at the V.S. worker nearby, carefully arranging padded bras and lacy thongs.  She turned her back.  This was my big moment.

I worked quickly on that mannequin, my fingers moving with a ferocity never know before.  Within seconds I had successfully slipped the underwear down and right off of that mannequin forever.  It's a strange feeling to be stripping undies from a lifeless figure, taking something you're not supposed to have while at the same time leaving a skinny mannequin completely underwearless.

Let's just say I wouldn't recommend it.

With the underwear successfully in my hand, I glanced oh so casually around the store.  Had anyone seen my crime on this lazy Thursday afternoon?   I slowly wandered on over (play it cool, Bonnie, play it cool!) to the check out.  There was a buxom blonde at the register.  I assessed her, as you always must when committing a crime.  How smart was this lady?  Would she know the store was currently sold out of this particular style of underwear?  Would she realize that the only pair left was in fact just moments ago stripped from an innocent mannequin?  Would she take one look at my purchase and know me instantly for what I really was- a thief and a mannequin pervert?

I played it cool while I tried to figure her out.  Tried on some perfume here, some perfume there.  Took a bath in strawberries and champagne body spray.  Tested some more.  Put on some lotion.  Rubbed cream all over.  Blondie looked up, "You just love all those scents, don't you?"

Oh, shoot.  She was onto me.  Time to proceed to checkout.  Everything cool here.  No one doing nothing they're not supposed to.  I slid the underwear across the counter and then proceeded to talk a mile a minute (always ALWAYS my strategy when I think I am in trouble) "Isn't it crazy that it's already February, wow how the year goes, especially this year, hardly even had a winter, wow I love that watch, beautiful, my problem is I always lose watches or they break when I play volleyball or something like that, but I do love them, just can't keep them on my wrist, you know, I wish Victoria Secret sold their every day clothes in the store instead of just online, they're so cute, you know, I'm sure you'd get a lot of business, so you got any weekend plans? Friday is tomorrow you know an-"

"Ma'am.  Here is your purchase."  That speedy miss had already bagged up the lingerie, scanned my card, and completed the transaction before I had even gotten halfway through my monologue.
But the joke was on her. In that bag she handed to me was the stolen underwear, and with it my ticket to a successful getaway.  I gently took the bag and moseyed on out of the store, acting interested in pajama sets and tight tank tops.  Can't go blowing the whole gig now, you know.  Gotta play it cool until the very end. 

As soon as I was out of that store, though, I booked it.  Straight up ran out to my car.  I just knew that any second those workers were bound to see the bottomless mannequin and know that it was me who had so disrespectfully undressed their most prized display.


That's why you should never steal lingerie from a mannequin.
 
And that was the day I started my career as a professional underwear thief.
 
Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
 
umm... having trouble ending this post.  Just know that I stole underwear today and lived to tell the tale.

Got Valentine's Plans?

Well, well, well, what do you know?  Look what's right around the corner!  By golly, it's Valentine's Day  breathing down our dainty little necks!

Can you believe it's only a week away?!?  Naturally, being a girl, I have already given the big love day a lot of thought. My mind has been on overload contemplating all the great things we could do with our romantic day together:

Sexy massages?

Romantic dinner?

Cuddle fest?

Flowers and chocolate?

Dirty Dancing?

Oh my, the mind was a-ticking, yes, because the big day is a-coming!

Luckily, I've been married to Hubs long enough to know that we are not always on the same page as far as holidays go.  As in... he doesn't know they exist.  So, I figured I better bring up old St. Valentine just to make sure that even if the day wasn't first and foremost in his mind, it was at least floating around somewhere up there with the thousands of memorized lines, countless homework assignments, and his ever-present fear of zombie apocalypses.

I brought it up slyly, like I always do.  I'm telling you, it's not easy being such a sly wife, but I do it without sweating a drop. 

"Hubs... I was thinking maybe we should get our Valentine's Day plans going."

"Ok... is that coming up?"

(See what I'm talking about here?) "Yah... yah, it is." I replied,  "Would you want to go out to dinner or should we maybe stay in and make a romantic dinner?"

Hubs was brainstorming.  I coud see those little wheels in his head a-turning, "When is it?  The 21st?"

Point.  Proven.  You've got to REMIND these boys that Valentine's Day is coming up or else the whole holiday will blow right over and they won't even know they missed the big day!  And then when you are left all by yourself on Valentine's flowerless, chocolateless, and dinnerless you've got no one to blame but yourself!  (It also never hurts to remind your man that your birthday is coming... or your anniversary... or Christmas...)

A recent lunch in the faculty room reinforced this belief.  My favorite cute little French teacher was talking of her tentative V-day plans with her boyfriend.  Said boyfriend has not told French teacher of their plans yet.  Said French teacher is worried about it.  What if he has forgotten?  What if he is not planning anything?  What if he has another girlfriend?  All are valid concerns for us sweet little girls just trying to get some plans with St. Valentine. 

I understand her pain.  I understand the pain of all girls just trying to lock down her man on V-day.  So I said to my favorite French teacher just like I say to anyone who reads this blog: 

Tell him everything you want for Valentine's Day and you will get everything you want for Valentine's Day.

But unless you tell him, you're not allowed to be upset when V-day is a bust.

Valentine's Day 2011- One month away from marriage and SO ready for it.
Don't we look so old and grown up now compared to that picture?

You can thank me later, gals. 

***I prefer to be thanked in chocolate caramels.***

An Obligatory New Year's Post

Okay, fine.  I'll post about New Year's.  But not because I want to.  Let the records show- I am doing this out of pure societal pressure!

It's just that  I hate New Year's Eve.

But really.  Just think about it for a minute.  New Year's is the biggest let down of a holiday, and you all know it.

My realization that New Year's was all walk and no talk came the year I was 13.  2000 was fast approaching, and I wanted to celebrate in style, by golly!  All of my friends were a year older than me, and thus permitted to attend the big New Year's Eve Stake dance.  Thirteen year olds can't handle the kind of intimacy acquired from a slow dance, so only fourteen and uppers are allowed to attend, you understand, don't you? 

My little sister, Mary, begged me to stay home at watch 101 Dalmatians with her.  Please, Mary, that is sooooo lame for a 13 year old's New Year's celebration, don't you know anything?  But as much as I didn't want to, I was about to be destined to celebrate the coming in of the millennium Dalmatian style with my nerdy nine year old sister.  Except for one little detail. 

My parents were out of town. 

And so, I did the most predictable thing a short, scrawny, puberty-less, party-loving thirteen year old would do. 

I ditched Mary and snuck into the stake dance with my 14 year old friends. 

The dance went like this:
Not one boy asked me to "slow dance".
I was much too self conscious and awkward to even try to "fast dance."
Immense amounts of guilt were attacking me and telling me I was a lying sinner for having snuck in before I was of the rightful dancing age.
I stuck close to that always-loving, accepting wall for hours.  Midnight could not come soon enough for me.

In other words:

The dance was a bust.

 
The next day, I felt so guilty about my breaking and entering into that stake dance that I "confessed" to my parents.  In tears, I explained to my mom and dad where I had been and what I had been up to the night before.  I think they were smart enough at that point to realize that I had already punished myself enough and further discipline would just be overkill.

Instead, my dad just said, "New Year's Eve has always been my least favorite holiday."

And that was the end of their lecture.  At that moment I quietly vowed that I would forever follow father's example and become a faithful New Year's hater myself.

Here's the thing, though.  I'm not completely unforgiving.  I would have let New Year's have a second chance.  But he kept blowing it, year after year.  Disappointment after disappointment.  The New Year's Eves that followed involved lame parties, never having a boy to kiss at midnight, and working at Sizzler until 11:45 while waiting for that one last table to leave.  Each year my conviction that New Year's is the worst holiday just became more permanently ingrained in my skull.  I have a bad feeling I totally butchered that saying, but you get my point!
 
And that, my friends, is why I didn't much feel like writing a blog post about New Year's. 

But since you MUST know, I will tell you the short details of this year's New Year celebration.   Hubs had a show that evening, (and performed brilliantly, OF COURSE) and then we went to Hubs' brother's and played  Bang! until 2 am.  Hey, there's no point in chasing outlaws and killing deputies unless you are going to do it until 2 am, right?

Overall it was a great night.

Still, though.

I'd pick Halloween over New Year's any day. 

The Call

Yesterday was a special day.
I know what you're thinking.  "Of course it was a special day.  It was Christmas.  Tell me something I don't know."  First off, you need to ease off on the sass, and secondly there is more to yesterday than just Christmas, so listen up, will you?

Yesterday was special for me because Christmas day means that I got to talk to my little sister, Mary, who is down South preaching the good word to the peeps of Argy. 

This year was our Christmas with Hubs' family who lives in Kaysville.  Mary would be calling my mom, who lives in Orem.  When I realized that I would be missing Mary's phone call I was devastated.  I couldn't ask Hubs to do Christmas with my family because we did that last year and it would be selfish and unfair.  But at the same time, it broke my heart to think about missing the call.

So Hubs, ever the problem solver, suggested, "Why don't you just drive down Christmas day to talk to Mary and then drive back up?"

By golly, I married some kind of genius!

So that's how I ended up cruising down I-15 at 3:00 on a beautiful Christmas Sunday.

The conversation was great.  Wait, did I say great?  I meant to say very very very short.  Mar Mar is one of those down-the-line, exactly obedient missionaries.  She believes we should always follow rules, which is the polar opposite of the rest of my family, who firmly believes we are always the exception to the rules.  The two beliefs naturally clash.  Mary insisted we only talk for 30 minutes, as that was the length that it says in the missionary rule book.  My family has about seventeen members so that allowed roughly 1.8 minutes per person.  We were all yelling to her, "Who cares Mary!  Certainly there should be an exception for us!  We have so many family members!  We need to talk to you longer!"

I was right there with them.  "Mary!  Talk longer to us!  Come on, we're an exception, don't you know?!"

But Mary refused to budge.  We could talk only 30 minutes.

We put her on speaker phone and gathered around the front room to hear her spunky little voice proudly announce that she has gained 15 pounds. 

When it was my turn I could barely even say hi.  "Hey Mary.  I mis...yo-...."  And then I choked- couldn't get another word out.  I'm just a big cry baby, but dang, I really do miss her.

The conversation ended much too quickly, and before we knew it the phone had cut us off.  We all sat there for a moment with Mary's voice still lingering in the room. Mom broke the silence, "Why did that conversation leave me a little sad?"  We sat there for a moment and then my mom continued.  "I just feel like it's so hard for her..." 

"It is."  A sibling spoke up.

"Yep, it is.  It's really hard."  The rest of us chimed in, doing nothing to comfort my mom.  We all served missions, and if there's one thing we know about missions, it's that they're hard.

I thought back to my first Christmas on the mission.  I called home on the phone in the little closet in the nearby chapel.  I rememebr so distinctly the whiteness of the tiles, the heat of the day, the incredible homesickness I felt as I heard my family's voices travelling across oceans and continents to reach me.  Everyone was gathered together enjoying the holiday without me.  The first six months of my mission absolutely rocked me, and I was ready to call it quits and just come on home.  I remember trying so hard not to cry during that conversation, to show my family how strong I was, that this tough, sassy girl was having no problems conquering Argy.  I kept it together until my dad got on the phone and said sweetly, "Hi, Bop!"  That's when I lost it- couldn't utter a word in reply and just let those tears stream on down my sunburnt face.

I don't really understand missions.  It's one of the hardest things I've ever endured, but at the same time I hold such a special place for it in my heart.  I wouldn't give up my mission experiences for anything in the world.  Something about the testing and the trials and the growth and the tears and the heartache attaches itself and all of a sudden it is a sacred part of you.  Every day I see the influence of my mission.  It influences the way I work, the way I communicate, the way I treat people, the way I live my life.  I guess that is the way with anything that is "hard".  It is difficult and we hate it and we wish it never happened to us, but when it comes down to it we wouldn't trade those experiences for anything because of how much we've grown and learned because of it.

And that's what I'm going to remember next time I'm going through something "hard"- which always seems to come sooner than I think it will.

In other news.  Here's some pictures of Christmas morning.  My camera is out of batteries so we've been using the phone camera, which isn't nearly as good.  Please accept my sincerest apologies.

Hubs' gift to me.
Yes, it looks like my head is growing out of the package.
We did it on purpose...

This is Hubs showing off his wrapping job. 
Check out the big green gift for his parents.
Hey, you can't be good at everything, people.