Toilet talk

No, this picture is not from the actual incident described below.  I could lose my job for that people!

Copper Hills has not yet been kind enough to provide the teachers with a faculty bathroom on the bottom floor.  Which means when I gotta go in the middle of class, I've got two options: A) Trek across the school and up the stairs to enjoy the privacy of the only faculty bathroom while all hell breaks loose in my unattended classroom or B) slip out when my students don't notice, use the public/student bathroom around the corner, and make it quick. 

In my one year and one month here at CHHS, I have yet to choose option A. 

Today I was once again faced with that choice.  I once again chose option B.  I got the class started on some work, snuck out of the room, and rushed to the bathroom.  Upon entering, I noticed three girls just a-gabbing away, doing their makeup (At this point you may have two questions.  1. Why weren't these girls in class?  2. Why were these girls doing their makeup at noon?  Unfortunately, I do not have the answer to either question.)  I brushed past them, into the stall. 

Oh, but wait. Wait.  These girls weren't just talking, I quickly discovered.  They were talking dirty.  Crazy gross naughty inappropriate talk. 

I was shocked. 

Okay...I was a little shocked. 

Okay... fine... I wasn't shocked at all. 
(I work full time at a high school,  for crying out loud, I expect this kind of behavior out of the students.  Will my mom be disappointed in me if I said I wasn't even phased? )

I was finishing up when suddenly the dirty talk came to a screeching halt, to be replaced with frantic whispers.  I didn't know why.  Nor did I care. I exited the stall, washed my hands, and noticed that the girls were in what appeared to be a chicken frenzy- chucking opened mascara bottles and cheap red lipstick into their backpacks and flapping out of the bathroom. (And if you don't believe that high school girls can flap, believe-you-me, they can!)

At this point, I was done with my bathroom business, so I followed them out.  Apparently, in their complete panic mode, they failed to notice I was right behind them.  This is what I overheard: 

"...... oh my gosh that was a teacher???......... but she's like four feet tall......... thought she was a student..........oh my gosh is she going to report us to the vice principal?............I thought she would never leave, she was in there for like seven minutes!!!...........  so embarrassing........ do you think she even knew what we were talking about though?.............. are you sure it was a teacher?...........If they call my mom I'm screwed......what a perv! she just stayed in there to listen us.........."

(To whom it may concern: my acutal height is 5'4 1/2, I had a whole can of diet coke which is why I was in there for longer than normal, but it wasn't a whole seven minutes, yes, I did know what they were talking about, and no, I am not a perv.)

At this point, I was bored with their worryings about me overhearing the conversation.  Plus, they were walking too slow, and I needed to get back to my classroom, so I passed them. 

Conversation: Abrupt halt
Atmosphere: Extremely awkward
Tension: You could cut it with a knife 

Upon returning to my classroom and finding my class surprisngly well behaved, I sat down to ponder the incident for a moment.  After considerable reflection, I decided that when faced with my bathroom-during-class-choice it might be time to start going with option A- the private faculty bathroom.

Actually...

I think I'll stick with option B.

I like to keep those high schoolers on their toes, after all.

Tell me how you really feel

I recently graded the students' first writing assignment of the year.  The prompt was to tell me what the purpose of reading and writing is in the world, why it's important, what their past experiences with writing have been, etc.  I got some real gems out of the kids.  Here are a few of my favorites: 

No, he is not really one of my students.  Yes, I wish he was. 

  
• "Language Arts makes me feel many ways. I feel that Language arts is boring, it makes me want to fall asleep, I feel like it’s never going to end."
• "Writing to me is also like cheerios. They might both be good for you but they both are boring and plain. Both Cheerios and writing are for old people. Writing and cheerios taste the same just like paper and cardboard."

• "It wasn’t easy coming up with our language. People making things like silent letters; come on who thinks of that?"

• "When I think about American Literature some things come to mind. Like how the Native Americans got screwed."

• "I think we should do away with writing altogether."

I got to say, though, I agree with the kid about the silent letters.  Those things are tricky little devils!

six months, suckers!

Alright, since no one else wished it to us, I'll have to do it myself...

HAPPY SIX MONTH ANNIVERSARY TO ME AND HUBS!

(okay, okay, I admit it, our official six months was two days ago, on Sep. 12.  But I'm hoping that if I post 
today I can fool you all into thinking I didn't miss the real date ...)

Me and Hubs have now been married for six months.  HOLLER HOLLER HOLLER!  That is quite the feat, my friends.  I mean, it's not very many people who can live together for six whole months without either killing each other or getting divorced. People! That's 180 days we're talking about here!  We have truly stood the test of time.


Alright, I admit it, we've got nothing.  Pretty much every married person out there has been married longer than we have.  And knows way more about marriage.  And is way better at it.  And could sure teach us a thing or two.  But still... I'm darn right proud of our six months together. 


So I figured in celebration of our six months together I would write down my six favorite moments of our marriage.  So now... in no particular order... and without further ado...


1.  Moving into our first apartment and discovering the hot water lasted no longer than a minute, we had to move the dishwasher and hook it up with a hose to get it to work, and that the apartment had very very thin walls. (I'll let your imaginations carry you the rest of the way on that one.)

2.  Moving out of our first apartment.

3.  Seeing Hubs at Heathrow airport after ten days spent apart.  It was the longest we'd ever gone without each other.  As soon as I saw him I dropped everything in my hands because I suddenly had butterflies in my tummy.  That's how excited/nervous/pumped/anxious/twitterpated I was to see him.  You really only see this kind of passion in the animal kingdom.

4.  Coming home from work one summer night to find Hubs... without his shirt on.... sweating profusely in an 85 degree apartment... energetically practicing his juggling...  You don't find many like this one!

5.  Chasing/ getting chased by Hubs around the house.  It involves a lot of fake fast running, pretending to catch each other and the escape again, flirting, laughing, and if we're lucky it even includes falling.  Try it some time.  I think you'll like it.

6.  And let's face it, number six is not fit for me to share with all you perverts out there.

I am leaving you now with our wedding video to officially end this six month anniversary celebration.  Hubs' friend, Eric Phillips, did it for us, the little genius.  (Notice I look all tan and blonde in this video.  I no longer look like that.  I am now sporting mousy brown hair and pale white skin.  Also I'm obsessed with doing smaller lettering.  I can't get enough of the effect!)

If the video doesn't turn up on the blog (I've got a sneaky suspicion it won't) you can click here to go to the link on youtube.  

Take that, United!

I spent a good amount of time this morning writing a "strongly worded" letter to United Airlines.  I'm hoping for $2000 in travel vouchers.  Think I'll get it?


Where be my suitcase in this plethora of luggage???

To the Customer Relations at United Airlines,

I am writing to let you know of some recent frustrations I had while flying Continental/ United Airlines.  On July 26-27, I flew from Chicago to London (Continental flight 6070).  When I arrived at Heathrow, my bag had not arrived with me.  The gentleman working at the baggage claim quickly made some phone calls and determined that my bag was in Chicago where I had had a layover.  He assured me that the bag would arrive later that night or the next day since there are multiple flights that come in from the O’Hare airport each day.  I left him with a contact number and an address, and he gave me a number with which to contact him with any questions.

Up to this point I was patient with the error, as I realized that these things do happen, especially when you are handling what must be thousands of customers a day.  However, what upset me was the treatment that I received from this point on.  To start with, I was offered no kit of toiletries- no complimentary toothbrush or deodorant to tide me over until my bag arrived.  Instead, I was booted out the door, left to spend my own money to buy these things for what was the airline’s mistake.  After spending $1400 on one of your flights, I would think you would make more of an effort to accommodate me after your mistake.

My second frustration was that I was travelling with a large group of students, and we were supposed to be leaving to Paris for five days on July 29.  The bag did not arrive that day, July 27, nor the next day, July 28, as we were told it would.  Countless times I tried calling the number that the gentleman had left me, but I reached an answering machine every time I called, regardless of the time of day.  I called at what seemed to me the most normal business hours (ten o’clock on a Thursday), but to no avail.  I left countless messages with a number to reach me at to please, PLEASE just let me know the status of my bag.  I didn’t even mind so much that the bag still hadn’t arrived as much as the fact that I could not get a hold of a single person to even tell me where the bag was!  The absolute lack of communication was completely aggravating.  What service department never answers their phone, but instead leaves an answering machine to deal with any phone calls that might be unpleasant?!   Instead, the entire group was left debating if we should go on to Paris without the bag or if it was worth it to make the whole group change their travel plans and wait a day in hopes it would arrive the next morning.  I did not feel comfortable leaving for five days without a bag, nor did I want to be left behind alone in an unknown city to wait for a bag while the rest of the group went on.

We tried everything to reach the baggage claim, calling Heathrow directly, looking at United’s website and following the directions to baggage claim, making phone call after phone call to United’s baggage claim.  I spent the majority of my first day on vacation just trying to get someone to talk to me about my bag.  Finally, late that night, after not a single word from United, the group decided to just go on with our plans to leave for Paris the next morning.  We left early in the morning on July 29, and my bag still had not arrived.  By this point, I had been wearing the same underwear and clothes for three days, and despite being on a very strict travelling budget, was forced to spend more money out of pocket to buy a few  things to wear because your airline had not successfully brought my bag to London nor had offered me a stitch of compensation for the hassle.

In Paris, the entire group was greatly inconvenienced because of the bag.  Many of the other women in the group had to let me borrow pieces from their wardrobe, but that left them with fewer clean clothes and several of them had to go multiple days in a row wearing the same dirty, sweaty shirts.  When we returned to London five days later, my bag had been dropped off in my absence.  While I was extremely relieved and grateful to see that my belongings had arrived safely, I was frustrated that there still was no communication with the baggage claim.  They left no explanation for the delayed bag, no apology for the inconvenience; it was simply a dropped off bag, as if no one could have cared less for the trouble I had endured for the last six days.

I wanted this incident to be brought to your attention.  While I do understand that baggage does get lost when dealing with multiple flights, I just could not believe the utter lack of communication with the baggage claim, and the complete disregard for any trouble the incident had caused me.  I was surprised and disappointed that absolutely no compensation in any form had been offered to me to help ease the inconvenience.  If this is how United Airlines typically does business, I certainly will not be a returning customer.

The darndest things

I'm starting a Shakespeare unit with my sophomores.  I decided to test the waters to see how much they know about the old man.  He's the greatest playwright of all time, they've got to know something about the guy, right?

Ah, he's a handsom fella, ain't he?

Wrong.

Me: "When was Shakespeare born, you guys?  Who knows or thinks they have a rough estimate?"

Kid #1: 1210!

Me:  No... you're off by a few hundred years there....

Kid #2:  1943! 

Me:  1943?!?!?!  You think Shakespeare was born during World War II?
Kid #2: That's not what I said.
Me: World War II was in 1943...
Kid #2:  Oh, I didn't know that...

Time to shift gears, I quickly realized.  I thought they would at least have a slight idea that he born around 1500 or 1600 but I was just so depressed that one kid guessed 300 years too early, and another guessed 400 years too late that I gave up and told them the answer (1564, for those of you who are wondering)  With an optimistic heart still in place, I decided to move on to plays that he has written.

Me:  What are some of Shakespeare's most famous plays?

Kid #3:  I know! I know!
Me:  What?
#3: (Looking as if he thinks he is absolutely brilliant) You're going to be so impressed that I know this- Romeo and Juliet!!!!
Me:  Good job.  You got the most famous piece of literature of all time. Must have been hard for you pull that one out.  Anyone know any others?  Maybe some that aren’t quite as well known?
Kid #4:  The one with the two cities?
Me: two cities?
#4:  Yah… I think it’s like A Tale of Two Cities or something
Me: (thinking the kid is an idiot, but not wanting to hurt his feelings) Well, that’s by Charles Dickens.... and it was written about 300 years after Shakespeare lived.... but they are both from England, so, good job, you got that part right… anyone else?
Kid #5:  I know I know!
Me: (Hoping and begging that this kid is going to redeem his class) Yes?
#5: That one with the little guy with the magic powers..
Me: (My mind is racing… could the guy be Puck?...Oh my gosh, I've got a genius admist the class!  Not only does he know about Puck, but he also has correctly identified the play we will be studying next!!!)  Midsummer Night’s Dream?
#5:  (As if it is a ludicrous suggestions) No!!!  Who's ever heard of that?...  The one where the guy can spin the princess’s hair into gold.
Me:  Gold!?!? (thinking, thinking, the only thing I've ever read where a guy can spin hair into gold is....)  Rumpelstiltsken?!?!?
#5:  Yah!  That one!!!!

And that's when I just started laughing.  What else could I do?  You can only seek brilliance for so long before you realize the quest is futile.  These poor kids, they ain't got a clue in the world.  In thier books, Shakespeare is just some weirdo guy from World War II who wrote Rumpelstiltsken.

Comeptitive much

Let’s see… Saturday off of school, Sunday off of school, Monday off of school… That’s a three day weekend my friends! You better believe that after only five days back teaching I was already desperate for a little time off. Hubby’s friends invited him to San Jorge (St. George, for those of you who don’t speak Spanish) for the loooooong weekend. A hellish commute home from school Friday afternoon, and we were off!

It took three days of fun and games to discover I’ve got a problem.

I am ridiculously, out of this world, extremely competitive.

For a long time I thought it was a positive trait of mine. I mean, no one wants to play a game with someone who couldn’t care less if they win or lose, right? And I’m passionate. I care. I really care. Sometimes more than anything else in this world.

This weekend I came to the sudden realization that whatever control I once had on my competitiveness (Is that a word? If not, what is the noun form of competitive? Oh, English Language, you have so many holes) had gone out the window. The realization came in the following sequence…

1. We played hours upon hours of mafia. I understand that game was popular in the sixth grade, but somehow a group of twelve 20-something-year-olds managed to absolutely feast on the game. Hubby suggested the game on Friday night, everyone seemed okay with it, and it’s like we just never stopped. Every night about 11 we would start the game and go into the wee hours of the morning, stopping anywhere between 2 and 4 am. Saturday night while playing, Hubby turned to me and said, “Oh my gosh, I think Bon might be the mafia.” Well, I wasn’t the mafia. And for some reason I was incredibly offended that Hubby suspected me. So I did the most logical, sane thing to do, and freaked out. “What?!” I demanded. “You are the WORST at this game! It’s not me! I can’t believe you don’t know me better to know that I am telling the truth right now! I would think you could read me better!” Wow. Hubby was offended. I was embarrassed. We were both in such rotten moods, that we just left the group early and went to bed (…early being 2 am…) And all the fun was gone from the game...

2. Hours that weren’t spent detecting pretend mafia members were spent doing a little a-bump-set-spiking. After trying out and getting cut from the volleyball team both eighth and ninth grade, I am still somehow incredibly devoted and committed to that game. Unfortunately the love is unrequited. Vball will never love me nearly as much as I love him. I want so badly to just dominate that sport. And yet, I feel like I have maxed out at my ultimate skill level, and I am still just barely mediocre. Hubby is always nice enough to let me be on his team; the only problem is he thinks I am alot better at Vball than I am. Meaning that he expects a lot out of me. And when I miss the ball (…and sometimes even miss it multiple times in a row…) he is frustrated. And he tries to give me pointers. And sometimes I take the pointers the wrong way…(I mean, come on, people who suck at vball are going to be extra sensitive when others criticize their vball skills) and then snap at him…which is what happened this weekend. The conversation went something like this:

Hubby: stop running up to get the ball. Just stay in your spot because you’re not where you need to be when I pass it to you.
Bon: I’m just running up to grab the ball when I’m supposed to get the first hit!! You’re supposed to get second!! (Imagine a very upset, frustrated short brunette yelling this with all the passion in her little heart)
H: Whoa, calm down. I’m not yelling at anyone. I’m just saying to stay in your spot.
B: How am I supposed to stay in my spot when there are only four of us?!?! We’re all running like crazy!!!!! (Once again, imagine me yelling…fiercely….)

And then all the fun was gone from the game…



That's me, middle center.  You know I look intense.

 
3. At this point I knew my competitive drive might be on… well, overdrive… (Get it? Admit it, it’s brilliant) But the real icing on the cake came Monday night. Back from San Jorge, and on our last eve before we had to head back to work and school, we decided to invite over Hubby’s brother and brother’s wife to play a little Settlers of Catan. We debated between playing the game and watching a movie, but I always beg for a game over a movie, and I promised to behave.

You should know a few things about Settlers. The game is extremely competitive. It has some kind of evil power to it. It can make people do bad things. It can make you wish awful catashtrophes upon those you most care about in the world. About halfway through the game, Hubby came out of nowhere and blocked my two roads that I had built in preparation to build a settlement. I had all the exact cards in my hand, just waiting for my turn. I was bugged, but tried to be a good sport about it and just brush it off. 
 

Five minutes later, on a completely different part of the board, Hubby pulled the same move, coming out of nowhere and blocking me exactly where I was about to build a settlement. Once again I had the exact cards in my hand, and was just waiting for Hubby’s turn to be over so that I could build it. The worst part was that I TRADED with Hubby to give him the cards he needed to build those dang roads. And then he used it to once again block me off.

Now, if you never played Settlers, you probably think this isn’t a big deal.

It is.

And so, once again, I did the most logical, sane thing, and freaked out. “You son of a b****!” I cursed, emphasizing each word with a fiery passion. (I’m so sorry mom if you ever read this blog which I know you don’t)  I'm not a cusser.  And yet, somehow, that was the first word that came to my mind.

And then all the fun was gone from that game...

Hubby was shocked at my sudden outburst.  And hurt. (I haven't met anyone, afterall, who gets pleasure out of being called an S.O.B.)  And I felt awful.  Awful.  Who calls their husband that, no matter how competitive the game is?

It is now very clear to me that my competitiveness isn't anything positive.  But I've given up trying to control the temper.  It is way too freaking hard.  It lashes out so quickly and unexpectedly- as if it is a different part of me.  Instead I am going to take the easier road, and just not play any more games.  I am converting me and Hubby to a life of staring at the tube instead.  How mad can you get at someone when you're watching a movie, right?

#hip?

I like to think I’m pretty hip… but I have enough self awareness to realize that probably ain’t so. As far as bandwagons go, I’m just about always the last one jumping on. I was sitting in church the other day, a little bored, and decided to send my hubby a spicy message. I whipped out my flip phone and started texting away. The girl next to me looked over and whispered in complete seriousness, “So… do you not know how to use a smart phone…. or are you trying to make a statement by holding out with the flipper….?” I was shocked. I didn’t even realize I was that behind. Obviously I have noticed that the….uh… current trend… has been to have a little cooler phone than mine, but I didn’t realize it was to the point where people would comment on my bandwagon tardiness.

This isn’t the first time this has happened, either. I was real stubborn about the whole CD thing. Convinced that the ipod craze was going to fade away into oblivion, I just kept lugging my CD case around. I finally caved six months after my mission (about four years after the general public hopped on) I called my lil sis to let her know of my ipod decision and she replied, “YOU are getting an ipod?! Everything I know about the world is changing.” (The one exception is facebook. I joined in 2004- that’s right- 2004! I was driving that bandwagon!)

So… in an attempt to stop being the last passenger aboard the old wagon, I am secretly enlisting the help of my students. They might not be the brightest when it comes to writing killer thesis statements, but believe me, they’ve got the technology thing down pat. My latest obsession is the meaning of the tic tac toe sign. You know the one. #What does that mean??? I’ve seen it everywhere. Why does it exist? What is its purpose in our society??? I tried to slyly ask some students for more info without giving away that I had no clue what it meant. I got my only semi-informational response by a girl who hasn’t said a word all year “It’s a hashtag,” she explained with a look of pure boredom, “You use it when you don’t want to speak in complete sentences.”

Hmmm… this is kind of weird… but I think I I’ll give it a try…

Am I doing it right? #confused
I am craving some ice cream…. #pistachio with chocolate and cherry pieces
I need to run to the bathroom. #holding it
Gotta plan two lessons for tomorrow and have no idea what to teach. #ready for weekend
I sent my aid to do an errand and he never came back today. #truant, sucka!

#mastery
#Bonnie
#genius

Confessions

I'm doing poetry with my creative writing class and I had them write a "confession poem".... you know the little things you do that you're not supposed to do but you still do them? So, I wrote my confession poem along with them because I'm trying to write more and be more creative. And because I am also trying to publish more, I figured I would post it on my blog. Hey- putting stuff on your blog counts as getting published doesn't it?

Before you read it... some of these are exaggerated to make the poem better. I really am not that awful of a person...

Alright so you want me to confess?
Ok, but I'm warning you, my life is a mess,
Went to college to learn and grow
But spent my time partying- just couldn't say no,
Stayed up til four in the morning night after night
Slept through my 9 am classes- yah that wasn't too bright

By seven each day I'm supposed to be at work
When I show up at 7:30 around the corner my boss lurked
"Ms. Blackburn, why did you show up so late?"
"Oh my gosh traffic was awful!" That lie seemed my only gate.

These confessions are getting easier, I'm finally warmed up
When my friends aren't looking, I drink from their cup
I used to cheat to beat my sister in Monopoly
She never even asked where I got all that money
Wait! Driving 20 miles over isn't okay?
I guess you could say I learned that the hard way.
My feelings get hurt at the drop of a hat
Even if it's nothing, I cry "Why'd you say that?!"
I eat way too much ice cream, this much is true
And if I get fat, it's Dreyer's I'm planning to sue.

Wow! I feel so much better getting all this off my back,
But now I'm so tired that I've just GOT to hit the sack.

Things I used to not care about....

The design of my shower curtain....

How many miles since my car's last oil change...

The price of chicken breasts...

How often I change my sheets...

If I have to buy the spatula, can opener, mixing spoon, separately or if I can get them together in a package...

Retirement Plans...



It's official. I'm a grown up. Congratulate me. I've entered a new world.

Crying over spilt milk

As you might already know from previous blog posts, finding a wedding dress has been no simple task. After several dress shops and countless hours of selecting, trying on, taking off, adjusting, asking price, how soon soon could you do this, ETC... I found my dream dress. I bought it without hesitation. I left it in the hands of the trusted store employees to make the necessary alterations, and I was out the door, wildly relieved at having finally found THE dress.

Friday I had a fitting. The dress was all ready for me to pick up and take on home, just had to try it on one last time and make sure it was perfect.

I tried it on anxiously, yanking my jeans off and carefully slipping my gorgeous wedding dress over my body. I pranced out to the full length mirror to examine myself in this most perfect of dresses.

I hated it.

despiseditloatheditdetestedit

The shoulders had to be raised up and now the neckline was high enough to make me look like Jane Eyre. The bust of the dress didn't fit with my actual bust, and since I'm not exactly... *ahem*.... busty in the first place, saying I look like a sunken cave is a vast understatement. I had asked the chick at the shop to put some flowers by the neckline and what she made was one flimsy flower that looked like it was wilting, conveniently placed right next to the sunken cave. Then she charged me $15 for it.

After paying $200+ dollars for alterations and a veil, I threw the dress over my shoulder and trudged out of the shop. I wasn't 500 feet from the store before the silent tears started rolling down my cheeks. I waited until I was in the car to break into sobs. G has this ridiculously calming effect on me, so my first thought was to call him and have him solve all my problems. The conversation went like this:

B: I'm stressing out. I can't handle this. I'm never going to make it to the wedding date. I can't deal with everything. I hate my dress.
G: (bursting into laughter because he already knows what a hard time I had finding the dress in the first place) Oh honey this is crazy.
B: I know but I can't help it. I hate it. I hate this. I can't do it.
G: This is going to sound harsh, but I think you need to hear it. You're being too dramatic. Everything has to be done the hard way with you. Just keep it simple. You're too picky. Can't you just have fun with the wedding?
B: That didn't help
G: I don't know what you want me to say, Bon. You yourself are making your life hard. Just love the dress.
B: But I can't. I hate it.
G: ....long silence.... what am I supposed to say?
B: Say everything will be fine.
G: It will be if you make it fine. You're just being so dramatic and this is not that big of a deal. You've got to cut the drama or this is going to kill you. You're stressing over nothing.

At that point it was crystal clear to me that G was not going to be patient and loving and tender with me on this one so I got off the phone

I went inside the house where my mom was fixing dinner. I told her I hated my dress. Her response:

"Oh No! What's wrong with it? Did they not do the alterations right? Tell me exactly what you don't like about it. I'll go down and get it right if they didn't do the alterations how you wanted them. I'll fix it myself if that's what it takes! They're charging you for those alterations and they better get them right! Oh honey, I'm sure you're upset, but anything is going to look gorgeous on you...."

And that's why sometimes you just need a mom.

Careless driver

"You're a rotten driver. Either you ought to be more careful or you oughtn't to drive at all."
-Great Gatsby

I've been home from my mission for two years.

In that time I have paid for:
Four speeding tickets (totalling $610)
Two tickets for running stop signs ($180)
One handicapped parking ticket ($100)
Countless BYU parking violations (Which, let's just be honest with ourselves... I haven't paid any of those...)
One tow ($130)
Two boots ($100)
Two traffic school sessions ($50 a pop)
One plea and abeyance deal that my brother worked out for me ($50)

Do the math, my friends. It's over a thousand bucks on poor driving and parking habits. That's not to mention the $1200 a year I have to pay for my premium car insurance (Hey! It ain't cheap to insure a careless driver like myself!)

I thought I would learn to drive safer after my last bout of tickets (this was in April when I got two speeding tickets within a thirty minute time period), but I've realized now that for me to stop driving like an idiot is both unrealistic and hopeless. (My fiance's hurtful-yet-true analysis of my driving: "You're reckless, you don't pay attention to what's going on around you, and you drive too fast.") So, instead of figuring out how to avoid getting pulled over, my latest goal is to figure out how to avoid getting the ticket once I've already been pulled over.

Unfortunately, my record is 0 for 6 in getting pulled over and not getting a ticket. I don't know what it is about me that ticks cops off, but the second they see the short blonde in the black car, it's like their minds are made up that they're going to give me that ticket and teach me a lesson, goshdangit! I have watched other people skillfully avoid getting tickets, but I can't seem to master the art. Or even have mild success with the art. My brother's been pulled over six times in a short period of time. He's gotten ONE ticket. I've been pulled over six times in a short period of time. I've gotten SIX tickets.

Here are some strategies I have used. They have each failed.
-Crying. The cop seemed more impatient and annoyed than sympathetic. I later heard on the radio that men just totally shut off when women start crying and that it literally turns them off. Hmmm.... probably won't try that one again.
-Saying yes sir, no sir, yes sir. You know, the whole super respectful thing. He didn't seem phased at all.
- Having the car window down, the enginge turned off, my license and registration ready, hands on the steering wheel. I think me being this ready for the pull over just made the cop think that I've been pulled over one too many times... meaning I'm getting pulled over and still not fixing my bad driving habits. And the obvious solution to that is to give me a ticket, right?
- Saying I have a sick friend/ super emergency. Although he appeared somewhat understanding, the cop still nailed me with the ticket. And then I felt crazy guilty for lying.
- Being very humble and compliant. "Yes, officer, I know I was speeding. Yes, I know it was wrong. Yes, I deserve to be pulled over. I'm very sorry. It's fine. Give me the ticket. I understand." Again... the cop was totally unphased by my complete and utter humility.
- Joking around with the cop. I got a laugh out of him. I also got the ticket.

I'm open to some new suggestions....

The Problem

I've been doing some wedding dress shopping. (Oh... did I tell the blogging world yet that I'M ENGAGED?!?!?!) It's like driving a hammer through my head and then turning it slowly. (Er...wedding dress shopping that is, not being engaged.)

This dress: Too hideous

This dress: Too mormon

This dress: Too expensive

This dress: Too immodest

This dress: Too "I'm-going-to-prom"y

This girl: Too picky

At least I got the guy I wanted, right?

Kissing Revisited

The last time I posted I told the story about my rowdy sixth period class, and P.'s decision to read excerpts from "The Art of Kissing" to the whole class. Well, Monday we needed to go over a test. A copy of the test was on my computer that I planned to project to the class. Stupidly, I turned the projector on without checking to make sure that what was on my computer screen was, in fact, the test. Immediately there was a loud murmur spreading through the class. Then, "What? Kissing? Ms. Blackburn! What is that?" I looked quickly, realizing too late that because I had been checking my blog during my prep period what I was projecting to my sixth period class was NOT the test, rather, the blog post that I had written about them.

"The Art of Kissing."

I rushed to the computer, trying in vain to pull the test up before they could read what the blog post. Too late. My ancient computer wouldn't pull up a new screen even close to fast enough to cover the post. "What is that? What? What's going on? What do you have there on your computer?" Say what you will about high school students- they're quicker than we all give them credit for.

And so... in a moment of weakness I decided What the Hell? (Sorry mom if you ever read this blog). I'll let the tykes read what I wrote about them.

The reactions were mixed.

"Um, Ms. Blackburn, we're 17 not 15!" corrected one girl. (15 year olds... I mean 17 year olds... get get real offended if you get their age wrong. It's important you know.)

B, the genius who sits in the back, looked bored and irritated that we were taking up his learning time.

"Holy sh**! (that one I will edit out for my mom) You should write for a magazine!" someone else chimed in.

"The line that Pepeen was reading out in the hall was about kissing the ear! It wasn't that a good kiss should take you to another world. You got the details mixed up!"

C woke up to listen in... something I haven't been able to get him to do for weeks.

And P's reaction? The star of the last post? He loved it. Absolutely beside himself with glee. "Ms. Blackburn you think about me at home?!?!?!" He cried out in pure delight.

I guess everyone likes to know they're thought about...

The art of kissing

It seems I may have failed to mention that I am currently spending all day every day with the riff raff of West Jordan. I am officially a full time teacher at Copper Hills High School. An adult. Responsible. Legitimate. A career woman.

The kids are out of control.

The first ten minutes of class all kids are supposed to bring their own book and read. Most of them forget. Or just don't bring it. Or prefer to sleep. So I supplied some of my own books so that they don't have an excuse to not read. I guess I should have looked through the books a little more thoroughly before allowing fifteen year olds to let loose on them.

In my stack of books is "The Art of Kissing." I stole it from my sister's house a couple of years ago, skimmed through it, found it interesting, and then threw it in a closet, not to be retrieved again until I was desperately looking for books to put in my classroom. I carelessly threw it in a box with other books, not glancing at the title or the scandalous pic of people making out on the cover. I carried the box into the school, the book never surfacing. An aide put the books on my shelves for me.

And that is how, without my knowing, The Art of Kissing successfully manuevered its way into my classroom and onto my shelf, free for any horny fifteen year old to read.

This morning I was giving a passionate and intense lesson about effective thesis statements. The class was focused. In the zone. I had convinced them that creating a strong thesis would make their whole life complete.

I heard snickering from the corner.

"Yes? Is everything okay?" I asked P, the class clown.
"Ms. Blackburn this book is genius! It is changing my life!" Unlike the rest of the class, P. had not put his book down when the ten free reading minutes were up.(An interesting fact to know is that P had a fat hickey on his neck last week. I teased him mercilessly about it)
"P., I don't think you need to read any more about that subject. Put it away and get out your notebook."
"But Ms. Blackburn. I mean wow! Why you even got this book?" And then reading outloud "A successful romantic kiss will take you to another world. You will be so involved in the kiss that you can't think about anything else." The whole class burst into laughter. I was biting my lip trying to fight the smile.
"P, if you can't be quiet you'll have to go out in to the hall." Usually this threat works. It scares them. Makes them think the hall is evil. Or possessed. Didn't work with P.
"Yah sure I'll go in the hall if I can keep reading this book!"
"Just go!" I demanded. P pranced his way out of the classroom, the book carefully tucked beneath his arm as if a fellow student was going to try to snatch it away from him. He stopped just outside the wide open door and started reading loudly "One of the most sensual places to kiss is behind the ear..."
"P! Close the door!"

At this point the class was gone, their raging hormones causing them to lose it completely in hysterics of giggles.

"Okay guys. Why is it so important that a thesis be debatable?" I tried in vain to get them back. To get them to concentrate. To convince them that they love thesis statements. They were all blusing and smiling and asking if P. could come back in and read more of that book. And then I realized that getting them to refocus on thesis statements was an absolute and utter lost cause.

I mean really... since when has a thesis statement ever been able to compete with the art of kissing?

So long Sizzler

For the past four and a half years I have worked at Sizzler. Pathetic, I know, to spend that much time at a restaurant. In my defense I did take a religious sabbatical of sorts... and a four month vacation/ "semester" to Hawaii... but still, I have put in way too many hours at the Sizzler in Provo. And now, with a full time teaching job career under way I guess it's time I say goodbye officially and forever to my favorite little ghetto white trash restaurant.

Here are some favorite memories:

- One Saturday afternoon I didn't want to work my shift because all of my girlfriends were having fun without me and I wanted to join in. I told my manager that I wasn't feeling well and could I go home? He replied, "Yah, you look like s***. You better go home." I was feeling fine.

- Once I was taking a very large woman to a table when she insisted on sitting in a booth. I hadn't given her the booth option because...well... she was huge. "Uh... the tables are much more convenient for getting up and down" I tried to convince her. "No! I want a booth! They're more comfortable." So I took her to a booth. And watched awkwardly and she tried to shove herself and her mammoth bosoms into the tight space between the bench and the seat. Finally, several unsuccessful mintues later she gave in, "I guess I'll have a table."

- A lady ran up to me one night in a panic telling me she needed a plastic bag because her sick friend in a motorized wheelchair was going to puke any minute. The friend was ridiculously overweight. Rolls were hanging over her. Her face was lost in the enormity of her cheeks and neck. There were hairs on her chin. I got the bag, watched as the lady wheeled on over to a different part of my section, puked, and then brought me back the vomit filled bag to put in the garbage. When I came back out of the server station, she was back at the salad bar loading up on food. Wait... weren't you not feeling well? Didn't you just puke up all your food...?

- One lady was so rude to me the whole night, throwing out demeaning comments and acting like I was an idiot. She went up to the front to ask for her waitress and when the manager asked what the waitress's name was she replied, "I don't know! Piece of sh**!" The manager said, "No... really... what was her name?" "Brooke or something like that. She has a pink streak!" They figured out it was me that was the server, so I went out to the table to try to help her out. She chewed me out for five minutes, told me how to do my job, put me in my place (given at this point I probably deserved it because I was completely ignoring them because they were so rude). At the end of the night I brought her a comment card that we are required to give all of our tables. Instead of putting my name, Bonnie, I put "Brooke." Yah, I'm a smart A. She called and complained that night. The next morning I had a nice long lecture. Almost lost my job over that one.

- An hour into one of my shifts I realized I wasn't wearing any underwear. I was supposed to work a double that day- 11 am to 9 pm. We weren't busy yet so I asked my manager if I could go home to put some underwear on and come back. He told me to just go home. Score.

- The Mexican cook surprise kissed me outside the side door on the cheek. He asked me to go to Mexico with him. When I asked him what we would do for work, he replied, "Work in a hotel in Cancun." Wow. You are Romantic, Juan! Nothing sounds more heavenly than running away to Mexico with you and working in a hotel! Later I found out he was married with kids. Figures.

- Some couple from California was in Provo for a Nuskin conference. They came in every day while they were in town and for some reason fell madly in love with me. They tried to set me up with their son. They tried to recruit me for NuSkin. She tried to convince me to work at Sizzler in Cali. She took pictures of me and then sent them to me months later postmarked from Southern California. It was weird.

- Mothers Day everyone had to work so to make up for it, the managers bought a bunch of food for everyone and put it in the break room. When my shift was over, me and my BFF who worked with me filled sacks with the mothers Day treats and booked it out of the restaurant. Some other server saw us and ratted us out. The managers called and we had to return hours later with all of the stolen goods and apologize. Almost lost my job over that one.

- Dated a boy from work. I wouldn't suggest it, unless you're good at getting boys to break up with you twice, feel bad, and do all your work for you... in which case you might want to look into it.

- I was taking three people to a table, an old lady and a young couple. I showed them their spot and said, "Is this okay?" Everyone looked confused. The old lady began to sit down. The couple looked at her. Then at me. Back at her. Back to me. "Uh... she's not with us..." The old lady, looked around, also confused, and then wandered off. Minutes later another server in the station was staying, "My table can't find their grandma! They have no idea where she went..." HA!

- My last shift working before my mission, the stupid closing server wouldn't check me off. He kept making me get on my hands and knees to pick up my crumbs. He told me I was probably going to half a** my mission just like I half a**ed my work at Sizzler. I walked out without doing any more of my closing work or checking out with a manager. I would have lost my job over that one if I wasn't already quitting. (I didn't exactly think I would have to come crawling back to them for a job 18 months later...)

- Best tip: $22 from an old couple who ordered a $10 meal... It's not that impressive, I know. I don't know why I never racked in those $50-$100 tips that other servers made.

- Worst tip: (Aside from the countless no tippers?) $1 from seven huge Navajo men who all had steak and all you can eat shrimp and kept me running all night. After that I refused to take another table of Navajos. You can call me racist. I call myself smart.

- Total hours spent at Sizzler: 2,500- 2,700.

- Total money in my apron at the end of three years: $40,500. Crazy to think of 40 Gs in one and five dollar bills left out on tables, huh?

So, thanks Sizzler for putting me through school, taking me to Hawaii to study, help paying for my mission, paying my rent, buying my clothes, and thank you now, for being a part of my past... and not part of my future.

The ridiculousness of it all

To start with, how do you make ridiculous into a noun? Ridiculousness? Ridiculoustion? Ridiculousocity? I feel like ridiculous is the only real way to describe my situation, yet there is no noun form of the word. Does the fact that I even noticed this make me into a huge English nerd?

The reason I so desperately want a noun form of ridiculous is because I am laid up on a couch with my knee elevated and heavily bandaged and lortab running through my veins. With a surgery 30 hours in my past, the knee is hurting like H***, giving me grief, and forcing me to stay inside on the couch on a beautiful summer day instead of running around outside.

And what exactly is it about the injury that merits a noun form of ridiculous? The knee was operated on due to injuries caused at a slip and slide.

A SLIP AND SLIDE!

In my defense, it was a pretty hard core slip and slide, with over a thousand kids and huge tarps spread out down a mountain. This was no friendly backyard yellow slider. It was business.



But still, I figure anything would have been cooler than getting hurt on a slip and slide. An intense soccer game, maybe. Or sky diving. Or working too hard and carrying too much weight. ANYTHING would have sounded better than the truth. You can imagine how stupid/ridiculous/absurd I feel everytime someone asks me why I'm hobbling around. "Oh, you know, I totally tore three ligaments in my knee from a child's summertime game where you slide around with water. Intense, I know. I'm lucky to be alive... really..."

Yep, I'm an idiot.

Pink

I'm in an awesome limbo stage in my life right now. I have officially graduated from BYU. No longer a student, no longer have to be responsible and study and go to bed early and do my homework. No longer have to follow BYU rules. Lucikly, I have secured myself a teaching job for the fall. But I'm not YET an adult. Not yet a legitimate hard working, society contributing person. So for June, July and a part of August, I'm an inbetweener. Right smack in the middle of stages in my life... meaning I can do whatever the h*** I feel like.

I dyed my hair pink.


(Also, can I get a round of applause for my first ever picture on my four year old blog?)

People react very interestingly when you dye your hair a crazy color. Some of my favorites:

My sister: "That's not permanent, is it?"
Me: "Well nothing in this life is permanent... if you think about it."

My next door neighbor: "It's so cute so cute so cute so cute I want to do it too!!!!!!"

S, the boy I am currently dating: "Whoa. You dyed your hair."
Me: "yes. do i look like a rock star?"
S: "I guess...if that's what you were going for....."

P, from my ward: "Wow. You're hair is so hot that it makes me want to make out with every single strand of it."

A server at the restaurant: "You going to meet your boyfriend's parents with that hair? Oh... yah... they'll love you."

My mom: "WHAT is with your hair? Do you think you're a punk or something?"
Me: "No... I don't think I'm a punk...."
Mom: "You're a returned missionary! You need to cut this stuff out!"

A random person at the restaurant: "Does your hair grow in like that?"

My four year old nephew: "It's weird... I have never EVER ever ever seen anyone with that color of hair before."

The bishop's wife: "Your mom was right- returned missionaries should not dye their hair pink like that."

Bad break-up?

In my blogging experience, I have steered clear of writing anything personal or anything of real significance...my posts are usually a healthy mix of random and completely useless information about myself. Because of my dedication to avoid getting too personal, I have completely avoided ever ever EVER writing about my dating life.

But... just this one time I couldn't resist. The story merits a blog post.

I started going out with this boy from the restaurant where I work. His name is S. Everybody said it was a bad idea to date someone from work. Post-break-up-work-life would certainly be hell. I ignored all warnings and went for it anyway. But the thing is I never really could make up my mind about how much I liked him, and so it was always stop and go, stop and go. Plus, I was in and out of town, graduating (oh yah... forgot to mention huge milestone in my life... I GRADUATED FROM COLLEGE in April. WOOT!), etc, etc. Also there were some other deadbeats who I have been dating who kept trying to make their way in to my life and were making me really confused about my feelings for S. Finally, though, I decided that I do indeed like S and that I was going to give the relationship an honest go. You know... put effort into it, act cute when I see him, be nice to him, the things you are supposed to do when you are dating someone. The next time I saw S, he said he thought it would be a good idea to stop dating. Uh.... okay? His reasons for breakup were #1: I don't like kids very much and that bothers him because he wants to marry a girl who freaking adores every kid who has walked the planet and #2: I am not obedient enough. (Which for the record, I am an "obedient" person, just in a different way than S, who is very down-the-line-perfect-mormon-boy).

Now here's the good part. I thought the restaurant would certainly be a disaster now that S+Bonnie = Love is no longer a true equation. False. Work is so much better than it ever has been. I think he feels guilty about breaking my heart because he has been beyond nice to me. First shift working with S post-breakup: All night long he ran all my food to my tables. When I came back with a tray full of dirty plates and set it hastily on the counter, I caught him sneakily taking it back to the dishroom and unloading it for me. One particularly crappy night he noticed I was in a bad mood and gave me a package of nibs licorice. Then, when he had a wrongly cooked premium steak at one of his tables he told no one but me and we went back to the breakroom and polished that sucker off just the two of us. When I showed up late for work he covered for me. He does my sidework if I am behind. He always gives me the best section in the restaurant.

As you can see, this has really been working out for me. My new work strategy: date every boy at the restaurant, make him break up with me, make him feel bad for breaking up with me, and live the most posh work lifestyle ever. They do everything. I do nothing. I win.

My harshest critics

Two weeks ago I finished up my student teaching and bid adieu to the 15, 16, and 17 year olds who have been rocking my world the past three months. Strangely, it was harder than I thought to say goodbye to 200 high school punks. Before I left, all students had to fill out an evaluation. Although some of the comments the students put I really did take seriously, most of them were just absolutely hilarious. Here are some of the highlights, taken word for word, followed by my own commentary, italicized and in parenthesis:

Things you liked most about this teacher:
“She doesn’t make us think super deep about stuff that can’t be deep.” (HAHA! Is this a compliment or does it reflect poorly on my teaching meaning I didn’t make them stretch?)
“I love that she talks really loud.” (First time anybody has ever liked that about me)
“Pretty much everything has gone well except for the reading because I hate it more than anything.”
“She’s not just a boring fun-hating teacher.”
“We learned a lot, not only about English, but about Bonnie’s life. Like the fact that her names is Bonnie and she works at Sizzler and she’s a good prankster.” (Once those rugrats figured out my name they tried to use it as much as possible)
“Probably the most fun I’ve ever had” (EVER? Oh geez, I hope not.)
“The way she drinks her water.” (Yah, some of the things they said are just plain creepy.)
“She is always so happy and always has the cutest clothes!” (Man, these kids really know what counts, don’t they?)
“I loved the whole year! PARTY AT SIZZLER!” (
“This teacher is attractive.” (…that’s all they said….oh, ninth graders.)
“I like that it was cool. I mean it wasn’t boring. She kept it cool because when I get bored I just lose focus. But it was cool.” (Wow… so profound)
“She’s friggin hilarious.”
“She is nice… brownie points for her, I always like kind teachers.”
“Ms. Blackbird gives everyone a chance to speak in class.” (HA! Ms. Blackbird… oh so much that I said that didn’t enter into their heads.)
“She laughs at our jokes.”
“She’s got attitude and she knows how to handle talkers.”
“Finally, a student teacher who doesn’t have a problem with telling students to shut up! I really love this class (when she’s in a good mood, haha :))”

Things you would like to see this teacher do differently:
“Make specific homework assignments. We need exact numbers of things, not just “I don’t know.” (Oops. Stupid kids always wanted to know EXACTLY how many paragraphs exactly how many sentences to write. Just write you idiots.)
“Sometimes she wore squeaky shoes.” (They really couldn’t get over the fact that I have a pair of squeaky shoes)
“I would have liked her to not have assigned homework.”
“Nufin. She ballin. Nuff said.” (HAHA! And I call my student teaching experience in ENGLISH a success?)
“Well she smells like a horse. Her shoes squeak but… APRIL FOOLS! She’s cool. Even though Aquafina is better than Arrowhead and she drinks arrowhead and she’d be cooler if she’d accept our friend requests on facebook.” (I had them write the evaluations on April Fools… looking back it was not my best idea.)
“Don’t wear squeaky shoes… and I like your hair.” (Umm… Thank you?)
“She says like way too much. Reminds me of a teenage girl.”
“She could have made a fun spelling unit.”
“When kids goofed off, it was, I think, like, a little hard for Ms. Blackburn to stay in control.” (First, notice the excessive units of commas. Secondly, I love the way the student phrased it… hard for me to stay in control. Can’t you just picture me freaking out and throwing my high heels at the students?)
1. “Do 50 pullups in succession
2. Work me in call of Duty
3. Paint the Mona Lisa
4. Give me more extra credit” (I knew exactly what student wrote this evaluation… he was always begging for extra credit.)
“Less stupid books and no essays.” (YES SIR! No more reading and no more writing in an English class. Your wish is my command)

Man, I'm going to miss them.

No purchase necessary.

About a month ago, McDonald's made what I viewed as a terrible mistake. They printed a coupon in the BYU newspaper, "The Daily Universe." One free smoothie. No purchase necessary. No. Purchase. Necessary.

My little sister called to inform me of the good news and suggested that we meet up at... Hmmm... Lets say McDonalds... later on in the day. I agreed. My sis kifed dozens of newspapers from that day so we could have an endless supply of free smoothies. I let my roommate know, who was still on campus, and she loaded up as well on the newspapers. Between the three of us, we probably had 50 smoothie coupons. Yes. We win.

Now here's the deal... McDonalds was making a huge mistake. Stupid fast food restuarant. They don't know jack crap about marketing. You can't print a coupon with NO PURCHASE NECESSARY and expect to make any money. What idiots. BYU students, especially me and my smart little friends, were going to give them a run for their money, use and abuse the system, and make McDonalds regret ever having printed that dumb coupon. Every day. Free smoothie. And after the coupons run out, if you think we're going to pay full price for one of those little smoothies, you've got another thing coming for you, McDonald's. We aren't. We won't. Ever. Pay full price.

So we met up at McDonalds later that day as planned. And here's the deal. Even though I didn't HAVE to buy anything to use the coupon, once inside the restaurant I really really wanted French fries. And I figured since I wasn't paying for the smoothie, paying for French fries wasn't going to hurt me, right?

Three weeks ago, my sister wanted to hang out. And of all the places to get together, where do you think we chose? McDonalds, of course, to use the free coupons. Only she was hungry for real food. So she bought a burger and a wrap.

Last week I convinced a group of four or five to go to get free smoothies, my treat with the surplus of coupons I have. Well, they were out of smoothies. But we were all in the mood now for something delicious. So we all bought ice cream cones.

Three days ago me and my friend rolled into Mickey D's for some smoothies. I discovered I didn't have the coupons with me. So we couldn't get smoothies. Only we were now already craving something. And we were already at McDonalds. So even though its not my favorite place to eat, we were already there...so we might as well get something to eat, right? And we blew money on food from McDonalds.

And that's when I came to the realization. McDonalds got the best of me. I did not take advantage of them, i did not use and abuse, I did not rape, pillage, and destroy the system like I had planned. No. McDonalds had used and abused ME!!! Not once did I plan on spending money at that freaking restaurant. Not once did I ever really even want to eat McDonalds food. But I did. Every time. Even with that stupid "No purchase necessary" printed so clearly to see on every coupon.

Fine, McDonald's. You win. You always do.

Boys, Boys, Boys!

My oldest sister, Becky, has four boys under the age of 12. My oldest brother, Phil, has two boys under the age of 6. Somehow this week I got the pleasure of seeing all six of my little nephews within a three day period.

Saturday I went home to Price. Phil was telling me about a conversation with his six year old, Sam. It was Phil's birthday. Sam, a week earlier had asked him,
"Dad... is it your birthday next week?" Phil replied, "Yes, It is." Sam, nearly unable to contain his enthusiasm explained, "Well! Looks like we're going to have to make a trip to the dollar store this week!" Sam was listening as Phil told me the story and chimed in, "Which we did!" HA! And when Phil opened the socks that Sam had thoughtfully given him, there was no question in our mind as to exaclty how much they cost.

Sunday was dinner at Becky's in Provo. Ben spent half the meal trying to convince me that he is actually 14, not 11. When the kids got too rowdy, Becky said, "Go do laps!" and just like that, all four high energy boys were bounding out of the house running "laps" around the neighborhood. Becky's response, "I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier." While the boys were running, we ate brownies and finished off the ice cream- hiding the empty container before the boys could come in and discover that the brownies were supposed to have ice cream with them.

Monday my mom was in Provo and offered to take Becky's boys, along with Sam, to In-n-out. Mary and I joined in. The dinner conversation included mostly talk about how Davy won't share a hamburger, drink, or milkshake with me because I have germs. Ben and Davy spent considerable time under the table. I didn't ask what they were up to. Eli drank an entire strawberry milkshake by himself. Ben got mad. Eli laughed. Davy complained about not having milkshake, but wouldn't drink any of the shakes there because of germs. Finally, I remembered the suggestion Becky had given them yesterday. "Go run laps." And the kids were off. I sat in peace with mom and Mary, only interrupted every thirty seconds as we watched the boys run past in the window. I wonder what the people at In-n-out thought... all those boys just running circles around the joint. A little girl at the table next to us: "Mom, can I go run outside?" The mom's answer: "No."

I love boys, but why so much endless energy? Why the hyperactivity, the hitting, the pushing, the shoving, the yelling? Can't they just sit down and keep to themsleves for a minute?

Conclusion: I'm not ready to have kids. And if I do have kids, I absolutely can not have boys. It's kind of like when I wanted to go on a mission, but I told God I absolutely could not go to Russia. And He didn't send me there. I am hoping that when I do want my own little bundles of joy we reach a similar kind of agreement with me not having boys.

Kicking it with 17 year olds.

I gave up life at BYU and headed back to high school. I guess BYU was just a little too prude/not interesting for me. For the past six weeks I have been spending all day every day teaching ninth and eleventh graders. Probably one of the most out of control things I have ever done with my life. Here's some of the funnier things that have come out of their mouths:

When asked to make a list of everything that came to their mind when thinking about the word white, one particularly rambunctious 17 year old shared his list: “Clouds, pure, temple, vanilla ice cream, Joe’s thighs (Joe’s his best friend who is in the class), cottage cheese, vanilla ice cream and cottage cheese mixed…”

A ninth grader: “What was Shakespeare’s last name?”

Me teaching Romeo and Juliet: “You guys have to understand how bleak this looks for Juliet. She just found out that she’s in love with her sworn enemy and there is no possible way for this to work out.” A tough kid from the back in an unintentional outburst of complete seriousness: “Awwwww, SUCK!”

Me checking students’ work: “Austin did you do your double entry journal?”
Austin: “I didn’t. I was really busy, okay? I had two dates in one day...Then I had to take a nap...”

A student's essay explaining why one character in a book was having an affair: "He'll just take whatever he can get, as long as he is getting boinked."

A girl explaining to me why she couldn’t type her essay on the computer at school: “I just don’t know how to use these big, old computers. I have a mac at home and it’s all I know. I just can't understand this old stuff.”

In a sentence requiring students to use their vocab words to describe people they know: “Laman and Lemuel were really quite insolent toward Nephi in the wilderness.”

When teaching the Great Gatsby and discussing Tom and Daisy’s marital problems: “Yah, he just needs to backhand her.”

An 80 pound ninth grader came up to me explaining to me why it takes him so long to write: “I had to learn to rewrite completely.”
Me: “Why?”
80pounder: “Because my knuckle got pushed back into my hand.”
Me: “How did you that happen?”
80pounder: “I punched it back there…”
Me: “How?”
80pounder: “With a wall.”
Me: “Uh… okay. Well I’m glad you’re learning to rewrite.”

This overweight Mexican ninth grader sent me an email about his essay. His email is sexybubba0225. I couldn’t help but laugh. My cooperating teacher came in today and was telling the students who was still missing their essay: “Luckily we got the essay from sexybubba guys, so no reason to fear. Wow, what a relief, I was really worried we wouldn't get to hear from sexybubba."

The bad thing is now I have to be a little bit careful what I do, even outside of class. A girl came up to me a few days ago:
Girl: "Ms. Blackburn, I saw you driving today."
Me: "Wow. How crazy."
Girl: "I saw you stopped at a red light."
Me: "Really?"
Girl: "I saw you run the red light, Ms. Blackburn."
Me: "Oh...."

I hate Korea

Monday, Monday

I love Mondays because......

1. Easy crossword. Rock my world. I always finish the Monday crossword. BY MYSELF!
2. I have my volleyball class. And I love volleyball.

That's about it as for good things about Mondays...
Now I guess we just once again start the process of waiting for the weekend.

In other news, I got a parking ticket. I'm sure many of you will be satisfied to know I finally got what was coming to me. It happened on Friday- November 13. I am still amazed as to how I went two and a half months without getting a ticket. If you are wondering if I am currently parked in faculty parking... I am. I'm going to keep taking the risk, even though they pegged me once. I think they only ticket on Fridays. I'll keep you updated. Since I know it's a huge concern to you and all.

epic

Have you ever noticed how a lot of times people will just start saying a word that has been around for years but not used that often? And then people are suddenly going nuts and inserting that word in every sentence possible? It happened with the word random. Nobody ever used that word and then one day people would use it for everything- even when the word didn't apply: "I just got a random phone call from my mom" Uh... why was that random? She calls you every day.

Anyway, the most recent trend in words is.... Epic. It makes me crazy. Everytime I hear the word/read the word/think about the word it makes me want to put a gun to my head. I just don't understand why all of a sudden the entire world is using this word to describe EVERYTHING. The definition of epic is "very imposing or impressive, surpassing the ordinary or of heroic proportions". So wouldn't this mean that the more people use this word, the less significance the word actually has? Because if it means that it surpasses the ordinary... and we begin to use it for quite ordinary things, well then it's not epic at all.

I can't figure out exactly when this trend started. For the last nine months I've been blaming any new trend or anything at all that has happened in the media or in our culture on our mission. So obviously when everyone started using epic, I tried to say "wow, I must have been on my mission when the whole country started using epic like it was their job" But then I realized that the first six months that I was home from my mission nobody was using that dang word at all... so it must be a more recent affair...

I'll cite to you some examples:
In a review on Adam Lambert's new music video: the just-premiered video is an epic and explosive affair.
In the same review: I can only imagine how epic it will seem when it runs in multiplexes before Michael Jackson's This Is It...
(really guys, really? You're going to use this "impressive and grandiose" word twice in the same review?
A girl commenting on that video: it's not epic, it's biblical.
(Uh, you're retarded. Don't compare Adam Lambert to the bible. Ever.)
An invite on my facebook page: EPIC BONFIRE.
(Wow, that 21 year old boy off his mish must have just figured out what epic means and now he thinks he can use it to describe the dinky fire he and his friends are going to have in the back of his apartment complex?)
An article in the Daily Universal: the new agenda should be pretty epic.
(PRETTY EPIC? PRETTY EPIC? Isn't that an oxymoron? Don't use as strong an adjective as epic with a word that is meant to subtract the significance of the adjective)
My friend last night on the couch: We should do a road trip. That would be epic.
(Yes, it might be fun, but if you say epic one time during that road trip I'm going to run you over and leave you to die on the side of the road)

My advice to anyone who finds themselves using this word: It's okay to use it, just sparingly. Epic cannot describe every event in the world. Just because you just found out what the word means doesn't mean you can use it more than once a minute.

My Dirty Little Secret

I live too far away from campus to walk. Bus passes are $120 and that's too much money to pay for just one semester. And it's pretty much a universally known fact that parking on campus is insane so how do I manage to get to school every day? No, not hitchiking- my days at BYU Hawaii are long past.

I park in faculty parking.

No one has noticed.

I've been parking there for over a month.

No tickets.

It started back the first week of school. I was late for class and looking desperately for a spot in the undergraduate parking. No spots. Anywhere. Class was starting. I was frustrated and late and didn't want to look anymore. So I zipped on up to "A" lot, parked my car in a spot where I knew I wasn't supposed to, and mentally accepted the fact that I would have a $30 parking ticket that would someday have to be paid if I want a diploma. Imagine my surprise when eight hours later, there was no ticket on the car. I thought it odd, even creepy... but decided to just try parking there the next day and continue to push my luck.

And the luck keeps on pushing. Some 30+ days later, still no ticket. I don't even look for a ticket anymore when I go out to my car. I've just accepted the fact that A) My car somehow has faculty registration so when the police parking dudes come around my car scans in as faculty or B) No one checks that lot (which is ridiculous because BYU are such Nazis about fining anyone who parks inappropriately) or C) The BYU parking dude recognizes my car on me and has a crush on me so is cutting me a break or D) I actually get a ticket every day, but someone who hates me takes that ticket so that I don't realize I'm being fined and keep parking there. Maybe by the end of the semester I will have 75 $30 parking tickets. Yikes. Over $2000. That's as much as tuition. Just to park.

Whatever the reason, I continue to live it up. I can come and go to campus whenever I please. I run home for a quick lunch or to grab something that I forgot. I go to lunch with friends and then two hours later that beloved faculty parking spot is still wide open for me. No more having to stay on campus for eight+ hours because I have a good spot and if I leave in the middle of the day someone else will get the parking spot. The doors it has opened are endless.