Holiday Cheer

I got in quite the Christmas mood yesterday.

It happened on my way home from school when I decided that my lime green walls could use some holiday cheer. This is mine and Hubs' first married Christmas, so I figured I would be the good wifey and get the house decked out. Hubs had rehearsal until nine so the plan was to have everything bought, decorated, hung, placed, perfected by the time he came home. I could see it now, Hubs walking in the door and his sexy, not-tired-at-all,  every-hair-perfectly-in-place wife greeting him sweetly, "Merry Christmas honey bunny!"   All this would be happening while the lights twinkled in the window, the Christmas tree glistened, and the stockings hung perfectly. Maybe even a gift would be waiting under the tree, wrapped and completed with bows and ribbons.

That was the idea anyway. Sometimes girls are funny. Now, 24 hours after the plan hatched, I can see it was destined to fail.

Problem number one: What guy comes home after a long, tiring day, sees an apartment full of Christmas decorations, and is just beside himself with glee?

Answer:  No man.

Sometimes I think about things that I would like, then I get really excited about doing them for Hubs, and then consequently get confused when he doesn't show the same amount of pure joy that I would in the same situation. It's a strange world we live in with men and women trying to co-exist. I realize now, of course, that what Hubs was going to want when he came home was a hot dinner, a pleasant wife, and a couch. Unfortunately for Hubs last night, he got neither the Christmas decorations nor the hot dinner and smiling wife.

It all started out innocent enough. My intentions were pure.

The plan:
1. Get a tree
2. Get lights for the tree
3. Buy stockings
4. Buy glitter and glue to put mine and Hubs' names on the stockings.
5. Stop by my mom's house to borrow some ornaments.
6. Pick up a caramel apple at Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory.
7. Make dinner while Christmas music played.
7. Decorate the tree and hang the stockings while dinner cooked.
9. Fix myself up so I look sexy when Hubs gets home.
10. Light all the Christmas lights and set the table, dinner ready to be served in a romantic Christmas atmosphere the instant Hubs opened the door.

Funny how plans never work out.

It all started at Wal-mart. My arch nemesis.

I have never before bought a Christmas tree, and I was grossly misinformed on the price. I saw a friend's facebook status that said she had got her full sized tree for $10 with a coupon. Naturally, I figured from that that a normal priced full sizer would go for $15 tops. No problemo. I ain't no millionaire, but I think I can spare $15 for some holiday cheer.

So naive. 

Full sized trees were in the $100 range, and $10-15 trees were... well... non-existent. The best value I could find was $25 for a four foot tree. That's about $6.25 a foot, and if you ask me that is $6 a foot too much for some fake pine needles.

I was quickly determining that I was going to have to cut some steps in my ultimate plan if I was ever going to live through the day.  First thing scratched: stopping by my mom's to get ornaments.  I could just get some here at Wal-mart for a couple of bucks and save myself the trip.  Fat chance.  Do you know what the going rate is these days for a box of ornaments at Wally's World?  Fifteen bones. FIFTEEN!  Who are these people?  Needless to say, I resigned myself to a stop at my mom's to dig through her Christmas decoration leftovers, in spite of my increasing weariness.

Thus the night went.  There was no glue at Wal-mart, so I had to make yet another stop.  The ornaments at my mom's house were nowhere to be found, and my phone was out of battery.  After nearly half an hour of searching, I found the ornaments in a closet I never knew existed.  On my way home from my mom's, the gas light came on in my car.  So I stopped to get gas- eighteen degrees and all.  Back in my car, and on the road I got cut off in traffic by a Buick.  And I really hate Buicks.

And slowly, but ever so surely, my Christmas cheer morphed in to a 5'4" white female version of the Christmas grinch.

The straw that broke the caramel's back was the candy store.  Of course, I shouldn't have stopped.  I realize that now.  Should have just kept driving on home, sights set on the road and my mind never wandering to that $6 piece of caramel apple heaven.  I'll save you the trouble of reading my post from yesterday and summarize- basically the candy store involved dozens of BYU zoobies, on ornery ex-zoobie (me!), and some blatant butting in line.  Twenty five minutes later I was back in my car, arriving home after an endless day at 7:45 pm.

Funny that I didn't feel like cooking dinner at that point.
Funny that I didn't feel like putting up the damn Christmas tree. (So sorry, mom)
Funny that I didn't feel like changing into something sexy.
Funny that I didn't feel like being cute and clever and sweet and flirty for Hubs when he came home.

Instead, I dropped the overpriced fake tree on the floor, threw the stockings, glitter, and ornaments on the table, heated up a can of soup, changed into old dirty pajamas and vegged on the couch.  I didn't do the dishes that were waiting in the sink.  I didn't empty the overflowing trash.  I didn't vaccuum up the bugs that are undoubtedly starting to build a small community in the carpet.

Luckily, Hubs didn't much seem to notice when he came home.  That's the nice thing about boys.  They care so much less than girls about those unimportant things. Instead of commenting on my gross sweats, the Christmas vomit that was spewed all over the front room, or the lack of dinner, Hubs cuddled up next to me on the couch.  "Want to watch an episode of the Kardashians?" he asked.

Yes.  As a matter of fact.  I did.

Twenty four hours later, I am staring at my Christmas tree box, the tree still nestled tightly inside.  The ornaments and stockings still litter the kitchen table.  It may be as far as I ever get in my decorating. 

And if so, that's okay.

The Christmas tree  It is anyone's guess how long it will stay in that box.

Our first ever stockings.  But will they ever hang my walls?

BYU students, a Scrooge, and a caramel apple

Tonight I stopped on my way home at Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory.  Have you ever gotten a caramel apple from there?  I wouldn't recommend it.  Because if you get one caramel apple there you will be a slave for the rest of your life and always be forced to buy $6 apples against your will because you simply cannot resist them.  FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.  But if you do go, get the caramel apple pie apple.  It is to die for.  Tell them Bon Bon sent you and you will get... jack crap.  Got you there didn't I?  One day I will be famous enough to demand chocolate stores to give discounts to everybody to see, but that day is not yet here.

ANYWAY...both Hubs and I are completely addicted to these apple pie apples, and unfortunately neither of us make enough money to support a $6 apple addiction, so as you can imagine it has become quite the conundrum for us.  I do everything I can to avoid Riverwoods mall for the exact reason that I know I will be sucked in to the store and forced to give away my life savings for a few apples.

Tonight was a night where I just couldn't resist.  I was dead tired and after a million Christmas errands (more details on those tomorrow) all I wanted was a little innocent apple to comfort me at the end of my day.  So I pulled on over, promised myself it would be no longer than three minutes, (it was already 7:30 and I hadn't been home since 6:00 am) and ran on in to the chocolate store.

Death.  The small chocolate factory was filled to the brim with people.  Not just people.  Students.  Not just students.  BYU students.  Not just BYU students.  BYU FHE students.  And I had my second BYU student experience in three days.  That is two experiences too many for a three day span.

You see, I wasn't in nearly as good a mood as I was on Saturday night.  I wasn't flaunting bright red lipstick, on a hot date with Hubs after a relaxing day off.  Instead, I was at the end of errands on an endless Monday and I hadn't seen Hubs since I kissed him goodbye at 6:00 am when he rolled over in the bed and mumbled something that sounded like "Princess Ariel."  I don't ask questions when it's that early.

So no, I was not really in the mood for hordes of BYU students.  The line was at least 12 people long and there were 33 people all together in the shop.  Yes, I counted.  I watched intently the people around me.  It didn't take long for me to figure out that most of these people weren't even there to buy chocolate, but mostly to get out of the cold, and to get free samples.  Unlucky for them, the girls working had discovered their aim, and had hid all the free samples behind the counter.

I stared at the students with disdain as they bumped shoulders with me.  "Oh my gosh, are you sure there are free samples?  I LOVE CHOCOLATE!" I heard a girl scream.  They laughed, they giggled, they flirted with each other, the whole loud obnoxious group of them.

Open. Close. Open. Close.  Students entered.  Students left.  Cold entered.  Cold stayed.

"Doth my nose deceive me, or is this really a store filled with the sweet aroma of chocolate?"  I turned around to see another Zoobie zealously entering the store.  And I shot that person a look of death.  Annoying comments like that are only funny when I'm in a good mood.  When I'm in a bad mood, they make me want to do things to them so bad it'd make you puke if I told you. (Kidding, mom!)

"Excuse me, we are in front of you," I turned around to see a pimply man/boy, "We were here before you, you slipped in front of us." 
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know," I replied.  Because I really didn't. 
He and six other people got in front of me.
I think it was a trick.
Ten minutes and sixty door closings and openings later, it was time for the group in front of me to order.  "What can I get for you?" said the girl behind the counter.
"Let's see... does anyone know what they want?" the boy asked his group of six.  They all shook their heads.
I felt like jumping in front of them in line and screaming, "I do!  I know what I want!  I want a caramel apple pie apple and then I want to get the hell out of this store!"
But I didn't say that, mom.  Because I'm a good girl.
Instead I waited impatiently and cursed them in my head.

The group ordered six small hot chocolates.  I continued to spy on them because when I am alone in line, it happens to be the thing I do best.

"Oh, look!  I think she is cutting up an apple in the back for a free sample!  I want a free sample of an apple so bad!"  One of the girls cried excitedly.  The lady in the back cut the apple in the bag and gave it to a paying customer, dashing the young girl's hopes to shreds.  This group was really not coping well with the lack of free samples.

Do you find it amusing that I, the queen of free, the queen of coupons, and the queen of discounts was annoyed at a couple of kids wanting something for free?  I was.  I was very annoyed.  I wanted to scream, "Just buy a dang apple!  They are really quite affordable!  Only six dollars for one apple!"

FINALLY.  It was my turn.  "One caramel apple pie apple." I said confidently and hurriedly. 
"Okay, would you like that... Whoa whoa whoa!  What are you guys doing?"  The girl at the counter was distracted by something going on in front of me.  I turned to see the six in the group reaching over the counter and grabbing cut up apples.
"Uh...we're just grabbing samples..."
"You can't just grab stuff on our side of the counter!"
"Oh... we thought they were free..."

"They're not ready to be passed out yet!"  The girl was at her wits end.

And that's when I realized.  I had been wrong on Saturday when I looked at the BYU students with envy at their frivolous and seemingly responsibility-less lives.

Sometimes it's good to grow up.



Is it worth the $6 and the twenty minute wait in line?
No it's not.
But I'm a slave.
And slaves don't get to choose if they buy it or not.





Back to BYU

WARNING:  THIS POST HAS NO ORGANIZATION WHATSOEVER.  NADA. ZERO.  ZILCH.  If this were one of my student's papers, I would give them a zero for organizaiton and tell them to learn how to organize their thoughts before they insult me with such material again.  You have been warned.  Read at your own risk.

This weekend Hubs and I did a little FBI work.

You see, Hubs belongs to a comedy club at UVU called Laughing Matters.  This weekend, BYU's comedy club, and sorta-kinda-rival, Divine Comedy, was performing.  We decided to head on over, check out the competition, and possibly cause bodily harm to the cast members if we deemed it so necessary.

I wore bright red lipstick to prove a point to those zoobies.  Yes, I may be a BYU alum, but I'm no prude!  I like to stand out in a crowd of righteous smarties, and if red lipstick is the way I have to do it, then so be it.  Believe me, that lipstick was red.  RED AS SIN.

Our "spying" was disappointingly uneventful.  There was nothing for us to get riled up about, and we noticed only one thing that Divine Comedy does better than Laughing Matters.  D.C. had millions upon millions of glowsticks falling from the ceiling. THE CEILING, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Does it get any cooler than that? Hubs and I were sitting front and center, and therefore were being constantly barraged by dozens of glowsticks. I kept about two and then spent the rest of my night chucking the glowsticks to the back of the auditorium. I may have hit some people in the face and that may have been my goal.  Don't judge.

That ended up being the extent of our spying.  Kind of a let down, I know.

While I was on BYU campus, however, I did notice a few other things. 

First things first:  We saw this guy.

In case you don't know who this guy is, he is in essentially every Mormon movie ever made.  He is also the Qwestar spokesman.  He also does not look this good in real life.  He is chubbier and less groomed.  Someone had to say it.  Still, it was exciting to see him because anytime you see someone who is practically famous it is exciting.

Now, for my observations.  Observation #1:
The line for the show was looooooooooooooooooooooooooooong and weaved throughout the entire building.  That's zoobies for you.  Showing up two hours early for a little clean comedy.  There were people camped out all over the place- playing cards, playing guitars, playing each other.  On my way to the bathroom, I saw a boy and girl with their Book of Mormon in Spanish, reading out loud to each other.  I was shocked, confused- didn't know where I was.  What world had I suddenly warped into?  Then I remembered.  I was at BYU.

Observation #2:  They started the show with a prayer.  A PRAYER!  I thought about yelling out, "Excuse me, what about separation of church and state around here?!" and then I remembered that BYU is a church school and they can do whatever they please.

Observation #3  I was shocked that everyone looked so...young.  I no longer felt like I was part of them, but rather that I was an outsider.  I felt like I do when I'm at Copper Hills... that everybody else is a student and that I am a teacher.  I had a fleeting moment of sadness and nostalgia as I watched the college students laugh and flirt and have fun, and realized that this was not a part of my life anymore.  That I did not belong to that group.  BYU is no longer an active part of my life, but rather a piece of my distant past.

Which led to my Observation #4 which is:

Sometimes it is hard to grow up.

Now, before you go feeling too bad for me, let me just tell you that I am about to go pop some popcorn, curl up with Hubs, and watch Kourtney and Kim take New York.  Isn't he the greatest?

Lessons at the Gyno

Every year I have an appointment with the ...*ahem*... lady doctor.  To make sure all my...*ahem*...lady parts are doing everything they are supposed to do.

Today was said...*ahem*... lady doctor appointment. 

I always get just a tad nervous before these appointments.  And by always I mean the two times in my life that I have ever been.  To calm my nerves in the waiting room, I looked for something to read.  Well, I'll tell you what, that place was hard up for some reading material so I resorted to the pamphlets on the wall.  My choices were "Menopause:  What you don't know you don't know," and "The infection question:  it's not always yeast."  This much I know for sure, whoever is writing the titles of their pamphlets needs to get paid less.  I opted for the menopause pamphlet.  You see, I always like to be prepared.  Sometimes things happens sooner than you'd think, people.

I didn't get far in my riveting read when they called me to the back, demanded to know my weight, and them told me to strip and put on a robe with the opening in the front.  They've got a lot of nerve.

The lady doctor came in.  She was asking me a bajillion questions.  I figure she did it to take my mind off the exam and I'll tell you what, it worked because I was so busy answering her relentless questions that I didn't have a second to think about what else was going on in the room.

"How was the wedding?"  "How's teaching?"  "Do you want to get pregnant?" "What does your husband do?" "Do the students mistake you for a student?" "Have you ever gone on an African safari?" I mean it.  This lady didn't let up.

Then she asked me, "So how is the marriage going?  Everything marital bliss?"  I considered briefly telling her that we had already divorced- just to see her squirm- but I decided instead to be a good girl.  "Yah, pretty much."

"Yep, that usually lasts about two years." She said with a complete straight face.  "Now, I'm going to give you this prescription for a year..."

We finished up and I took my prescription and free birth control and menopause pamphlet and headed on home.

I got to thinking on my drive.  About the whole marital bliss thing lasting two years.  Here's what bothers me about it.  I have gotten that remark, or a similar version of it, probably 100 times since I tied the knot.  "Oh, that will soon wear off and before you know it you'll be two people who live together and tolerate each other's bad smells." or  "Oh, you're probably just so in love right now, aren't you?  It doesn't last forever you know,"  or "After a few years you won't even be touching each other anymore, trust me."

Its not that I think me and Hubs have a better marriage than everyone else.  It's just that... I think everybody should have a better marriage than that. 

While my marriage has been a blast and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, it's no cake walk.  It's not like we've just been sitting on the couch kissing and eating ice cream.  We've had to struggle through things.  We don't always see eye to eye.  We're both strong willed people.  Sometimes we are selfish.  Sometimes we say things we don't know are hurtful.  Sometimes we just don't even really know how to be married.  But every month is easier.  Every month is more fun.  Because we understand each other more, we know how to treat the other person, we know how to talk to each other.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that it seems to me that each year of your marriage should be getting better, not worse.

Then I started thinking.  Maybe I'm just being naive and stupid.  Maybe the whole marital bliss really is just a passing phase.  Then I thought of the marriage besides my own that I know the best.  My parents' marriage.  Of course, as a child of the marriage, I don't know half of the struggles that went on, the disagreements, the trials, the hurt feelings.  What I do know from pure observation is that my dad told my mom she looked pretty at the dinner table, they said their prayers together at night, my mom organized my dad's desk for him, they danced in the kitchen, and they took week long vacations without the kids every year.  It sure doesn't seem like a marriage where the bliss ended after two years. 

I also know that the two years since my dad passed away have been the most difficult and trying times of my mom's life.  I know that she has experienced severe heartache, on a level that the rest of us can't understand.  I know that she misses him every day.  I have seen her shed countless tears because of his absence.  And I'll tell you this much- my mom's not crying because somebody she tolerated and picked up after left earlier than she thought.  She's crying because they were right smack in the middle of marital bliss.

I don't know diddly squat about marriage.  I'm a freaking amateur over here.  But I know this much.  Marital bliss isn't supposed to last for two years.  It's supposed to last for eternity.

And that's what I learned today on my trip to the lady doctor.

Bliss

So exciting!

I have to tell you something.

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

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

It's like that.

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

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

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

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

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

Are you just dying of suspense?

Are you finally ready for what the real news is?!?!?

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

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

Send spicy messages to Hubs at any time of night or day?
Watch Youtube videos?
Update my blog?
Follow Ellen and Conan on twitter?
Download and read entire books, such as Great Expectations?
Take pictures of myself in my classroom?
Get minute by minute directions to somewhere I need to go? (It's called GPS, and it's opening my eyes to a new world.)
Download and play and music anytime I want?
Play scrabble with my mom? (who has her own said pocket electronic device)
Call my pharmacy and yell at them for not filling my prescription on time? (birth control, you nosey snoops.  You should really stay out of other people's business)
Check an email that my sister has just sent me from Argentina?

Match prices at Wal-mart?

Look up the weather?

Read my scriptures?

Check my calendar to see what I have going on this weekend?

Transfer money out of my checkings account?

Pay my credit card bill?

Look up movie reviews?

Stare at pictures of Hubs when he is gone all day long?

And many many MANY more things!?

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

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

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

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

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



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

 

This shirt was free.  My #1 criteria for clothes.

 

8:10 am.  I love the way the sunshine streams into my classroom
in the morning.  Makes me feel like all is good and right
in the world.



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

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

A case of the giggles

Something weird happened today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, boy was I laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I really do.

Twilight...what I don't understand

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

I don't get it.

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

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

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

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

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

Then I met Hubs.

Hubs likes Twilight.

Yep.  I married a man who likes Twilight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the worst film ever. 

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

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

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

Yah.  I'll never understand.

Black Friday

If you are in to laughing at people you have never met before, please note the lady mid right
with the gray hair and double chin.

It makes sense that I would be in love with Black Friday.  After all, I am the girl who price matches every item she buys and refuses to get a 12 pack of coke if it's 60 cents overpriced.

But I'm not in love with Black Friday.

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

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

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

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

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

I didn't return the text.

Then she called again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Giving thanks... a few days late!

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

Yep, pretty sure no other holiday says that.

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

Okay, okay, so I paraphrased that.  What he actually said was:

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

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

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

And that's why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

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

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

Yes, I will be posting about Black Friday.

Would you like some burnt orange with that lime green?

Here's a confession for you.

I have no idea how to be a wife.

No idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't mind if I do!

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

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

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

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

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

Oops

What is the best way to start a Monday morning?

Is it....

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

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

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

And believe you me, I was speeding.

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

I'm Sorry, Thanksgiving

Friday night I did something very bad.

Very very bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep.  There it is.  I said it.

I liked it.

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

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

A little bit of Christmas music.

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

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

And I liked it.

Yes, that's right, I liked it.

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

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

Wrong.  He didn't notice at all.

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

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

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

"Bonnie.  I'm disappointed in you."

Then he rolled back over and went to sleep.

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

I wouldn't recommend it.

Dad

Two years ago today my dad died.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I would have said no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bon Bon the spy

I'm trying to kill my junior classes.

Or so they think.

You see, I gave them a research project.

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

Four pages.
Four sources.
Four quotes.

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

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

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

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

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

I spy.

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

to hell with this

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

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

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

Time to break up

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

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

I'm breaking up with Jazz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stayed faithful.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trying to save the relationship.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jazz quit before I did, let the records show.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this relationship is over.