How I know I'm not sexy

The realization came to me hard and quick yesterday. 

Like a ton of bricks being dropped from the sky.

I am smart, I am funny, I am good at conversations.

But.

I am not sexy.

Oh there were clues along the way.  Believe you me.  There were clues. 

Like when my dad used to tell me "Don't smile so big."

Or when I would have a crush on a cute boy and then he'd ask me if my best friend was dating anyone.

Or when I didn't kiss a boy all through high school.

Or when my brothers would introduce me to their friends by saying "this is my funny sister" but never "this is my cute sister."

Yes.  There were always clues.  But like any person who can't handle the truth about themselves, I for 25 years chose to ignore these clues and instead lodged them somewhere in the deep, dark abyss of my brain never to be retrieved.

Yesterday I could ignore the clues no longer.

The situation went like this.  I was lying on the couch in what I thought was a sexy pose.  Hubs was in the kitchen making a sandwich.  And because I was feeling particulary sexy for some reason, I made a sexy face to Hubs.  You know the face.  The "I love you, I want you, come here now!" face.

Hubs looked at me.

And then, in complete seriousness said to me,

"Are you trying to sneeze?"

And that was when I finally, absolutely, sincerely, genuinely, one hundred percent, without a doubt knew.

I am not sexy.


What, this doesn't do it for you, Hubs?



Personality clash

There exists something in this world called the Myers-Briggs personality test.

It is a test that measures and breaks down four different parts of your personality.  There are four categories and a person is one of each category.  So you are either
E- Extroverted- get energy from spending time with people or
I - Introverted- get energy by spending time alone,

S- Sensing- trust five senses to gather information or
N- iNtuitive- rely on intuition to gather information,

T- thinking- make decisions based on logic and reason or
F- feeling- make decisions based on personal values and emotions,

and
J- Judging- more comfortable with scheduled, structured environments or
P- Perceiving- flexible and diverse, more comfortable with open, casual environments.

If you want more information (and more accurate information!) go here.  To take the test and see what you are, go here.

I am an ESFP... meaning I get energy from being around people, gather information based on the five senses, make decisions based on my feelings, and am flexible and casual.

Hubs is almost my exact opposite.  He is an INFJ.  This means he gets energy from being alone, gathers information through intuition, makes decisions based on his emotions, and likes structure and following the rules.

So far the biggest hurdle for the two of us has been the last category... the J/P difference.

Js like structure and rules and social protocol.  Ps like spontaneity and craziness and taking people by surprise. 

Por Ejemplo:  (Watch out!  I've warned you before that I switch into Spanish mode at anytime!)

Last weekend Hubs and I were sitting at a stop light.  I looked over to see two guys in two different cars talking to each other.  Now it's not every day you see two guys, two cars, windows rolled down, chatting it up at a stoplight.
 
"Hubs!  What do you think these dudes are talking about?"  I asked. 
Hubs looked over.  "I don't know,"  Hubs doesn't get too involved in the lives of perfect strangers.

I continued to watch them.  It looked like a dang good conversation. And I am all about being a part of a dang good conversation.  Naturally, I wanted to join in.

I rolled down my window.  "HEY!  What are you guys talking about?!?!?!" I yelled over to them.

Hubs whipped around, mortified.
"Bon!  Are you serious?" he said to me as he hastily rolled up my window and put the child lock on it.
"No!  No!  No!  That is not okay!  You are not to do that in the car.  You do it again and all shotgun privileges will be revoked."

I pouted.  Folded my arms and looked out the window.  No one likes getting child-locked after all.

"There's no reason to be mad," Hubs reasoned after I went a few minutes without saying a word.  "All this is an example of my J not wanting you to holler things out the window.  You're a P, so you think it's all fun and games, but my J just can't handle it.  Please understand."

I understood. 

But that doesn't mean I have to like it!

Afterall, Ps love having freedom, hollering, breaking rules, and doing things their own way.

The problem is I come from a long line of Ps.  Rule breakers.  People who march to the beat of their own drum.

When Hubs was first introduced to my family, the J inside of him was screaming for structure.  Family get togethers are pure chaos with eight siblings and fourteen little nieces and nephews running around.  The J in Hubs was on a constant and futile search for order. 

The first time we went to a movie with my family, Hubs didn't understand why all of my aunts, uncles, and siblings thought it was okay to talk through the whole thing.

"I don't see anything wrong with it," I said, "I think it makes the movie more fun."
"This isn't your living room, Bon.  You are in a public setting!"
"So what?  You can still talk when you leave your house."
"No.  Not in a movie theatre.  That's not following social rules.  It bothers the people around you!"
"Oh.... I guess I never thought about the people around me."
"Exactly!  And you have to put your legs down too!  You can't just have your feet up on the seat!  It's rude to the people sitting in front of you!" Hubs scolded.

Sheesh.  These Js, they really don't let you have any fun.

This weekend we went to a movie with my mom and my brother and his wife.  The movie experience consisted of every possible thing a J could hate.  FIRST we arrived twenty minutes late because of poor driving directions.  THEN on our way into the theatre we saw my Aunt Reeta pop out of the theatre side door searching for her husband.  THEN we pretty much snuck into the theatre because the line was too long for us to wait for tickets, and we were already late.  THEN my mom kept talking to us in the theatre before remembering Hubs intense desire for silence while watching a movie.  THEN I started falling asleep in the movie.  THEN there was some candy being passed around the group that was a) snuck in from outside the theatre and b) in a very loud plastic bad.  THEN my mom answered a phone call in the theatre.  ("Hi Brother Jensen!  I'm in a movie, that's why I'm whispering!...")  THEN I forgot the rules and put my feet up on the chair in front of me before Hubs reminded me with his look of death.

As we left the theatre, I felt certain that Hubs would ban me from ever going to a movie with him again.  Just like he banned me from hollering out his car window.  The J in Hubs was most definitely begging to never go to a movie with his P wife and her P family ever again.

The first few minutes of the drive home were silent.
"Sorry about all the craziness in the theatre..." I trailed off, not really knowing what to say next.

"Hm?" Hubs looked confused.

"You know... the breaking rules, not following social protocol..."

"Oh, that,"  Hubs laughed softly and reached for my hand.

"It's okay.  In fact, it was kind of fun."

A-ha!

You see... that, my friends is the first step in a J's conversion to the P side.

Phone flirt

I consider myself a person who has no problem throwing stuff away.  I am no hoarder.  Movie stubs, pics of old boyfriends, first rose from my first prom, chuck em all.  There's no reason to keep such sentimental crap.

Same goes for my voicemail messages.  Erase them.  Delete them.  Throw them out.  No reason to hang on to any messages of people saying, "Hey, just trying to get a hold of you.  Call me when you can."

There is only one exception.

Hubs.

I've got half a dozen of Hubs' messages saved over time from when we were first dating/courting/engaged.  I just can't bring myself to the messages that are now over a year old.

Yesterday was my three week date with my voicemail.  Meaning I got to listen to all my saved messages again and decide if I had changed my mind in the 21 days since I had last listened to them and wanted to now delete them. (Wow!  A cookie for you if you made it through that mess of a sentence!)

The answer was no.  No, voicemail inbox, I do not want to delete my husband's old messages.

In fact, a couple of them are so gosh darn cute I couldn't help but share them with the world.

Message #1:  Sent August 2, 2010.  Hubs and I had been out only twice at this point:
(Singing at the top of his lungs)  "I want you to want me I need you to need me I’m begging you to beg me..."
oh... hey Bonnie. Greg here.  Calling about volleyball later... seeing if six o'clock works for you.  Anyway I was just blowdrying my hair.  Thought you might have called and I missed it. (I did not call...he was just looking for an excuse to talk to me!)  Give me a call- we’ll talk about it.

Message #2:  Sent December 15, 2010.  Three days before Hubs and I got engaged:

(In a nerdy, nasaly voice) Hey Bonnie.  You don’t know me really well, but I love you.  I know it’s weird and this came out of nowhere, but, yah, I adore you.  I’ve been following you for quite some time now and I think it’s time that maybe we go on a date sometime.  Umm…I’m really nervous.  I’ve never done this before.  If we could just make out sometime that would be great.  You know... my tongue in your mouth.  It’d be great.  I really would love to do that sometime.  I hope this doesn’t sound too intense or weird over the telephone.  Give me a call... or a text... or come see me... or whatever....you know...meet me in a dark alley.  Whatever you want to do.  So yah.  Give me a call sometime.  By the way my name is Greg.  Not Craig.  A lot of people think I say Craig when I say Greg.  I’m kind of lazy with my Gs.  But it’s Greg.  So yah.  Give me a call.  You’re beautiful.



This is my mischievious Hubs.  Can't you just seem him leaving
such flirty, sexy voicemail messages?

And now you know how Hubs wooed me.

 It's no wonder I fell so madly in love with him.

Laundry calls

In August, Hubs and I decided to move apartments.  We had lived in our first married apartment for approximately five months and that was approximately five months too long.  We high-tailed it out of there the second we were released from our contract and found an apartment that is further away, more expensive, smaller, has no washer or dryer hook ups, and has parking spaces the size of my thumb.

The good news:  It's not haunted.  So we moved on in.

One day I really would love to share with the world why our apartment was haunted.  But I can't.  Look at it this way:  some things are too sexy and romantic to share with the world. Some things are too sacred and spiritual to share with the world.  And some things are too absolutely terrifying to share with the world.  This expereince falls into the latter category.  And that will have to do for your explanation of why you will probably never get the details on the haunted house.

So now I have traded in the terror of weird noises, sleepless nights, and unexplained occurrences for the inconvenience of driving to a laundromat, constantly searching for quarters, and lugging dirty linens around.

Tuesday during lunch I was complaining to my friend and co-worker, Darby, of my laundry woes.

"It's not that it's that hard to take the laundry to a laundromat... and my mom's always willing to let me use her washer... it's just that I never have a two or three hour block that I feel like dedicating to waiting around for my laundry."

"Use the school's washing machine,"  Darby presented an easy solution.

"What?  The school has a washing machine?  Why have I never known about this?"

"Oh yah, we use it for jerseys every once in awhile, but most of the time it just sits there."

Darby's a P.E. teacher, so she has Copper Hills privileges and knowledge that I can only dream of.

"Hmmm...."  I thought about it.  Get my laundry done while I worked?  Kill two birds with one stone?  This sounded too good to be true.

"Seriously.  Just bring your clothes in next time you have to do laundry and I'll show you where it's at." Darby urged.  And that was the end of that conversation.

The next day at lunch I sent Darby a text, "I've got my laundry.  Can I bring it down?"

I don't think Darby was expecting me to take her that seriously.
"Uh... okay.  Sure."  She responded.

"I need help, though.  I need to avoid as many hallways as possible."

Now... I'm one of the most confident people I know.  I've got no problem dressing up dressing up like a zombie, spilling the details of my love life out on a public blog, or recommending a girl to take my wifely spot should I kick the bucket early.  But carrying baskets of dirty underwear and socks through hallways filled with sixteen and seventeen year olds? 

That requires a level of confidence and self assurance the like I have never before seen.

Not even I can do that with my head held up high. 

Not even I!

So we concocted a plan to avoid as many hallways as possible.  I would drive around the school with my laundry, park close to the main entrance, and then hurry in while the students were eating lunch.  Most students wouldn't be down that way, and I could sneak in to the laundry facility pretty much unspotted.

I drove around.  I parked.  I heaved two full baskets of dirty clothes out of the back of my car.  I walked in.

Oh, shoot. 
Eject. 
Abort. 
Stop mission. 
Terminate plans.

A group of junior boys, all who are in my seventh period class, were entering the high school at the same time I was.  I stopped in my tracks and considered turning around right that second and putting my clothes back in my car. 

But it was too late. 

They had spotted me.

"Hey Teacher!  Whaddup?  Want a fry?"

"No, no, I'm good..."  I would have to fake this.  Quickly my mind came up with a plan.  An excuse.  A lie.

"You know me... just helping Coach Cowles with some laundry for the swim kids.  I'm always helping out when I can! That's just the kind of person I am!"  I was struggling mightily, trying to carry both baskets down the halls.  Sixteen year old boys being who they are, not a one of them offered help.  I hobbled.  I readjusted.  I lost my grip for a second.

And then. 

Dropping out of the top of the laundry basket was a sock and a blouse.  A blouse that I had worn yesterday.

"Wait a second..." Josh said as he bent down to pick up the clothes.  (Now they offer help, useless boys!)

I could tell they were onto me.

"Didn't you wear this yesterday?"  Josh asked.  Say what you will about teenage boys, they pay a lot more attention than you think.

"No, this is a friend's... Coach Cowles... swim...."  The lies weren't coming fast enough.  I was stuck.

Josh and his crew of buddies laughed, "A teacher doing her laundry at school!  Imagine that!  Now that's something you don't see every day!"  And just like that, they were off, the whole lot of them, into an endless sea of pimply faced and hormonally charged teenagers, leaving me embarrassed and alone in the hallway.

I often wonder how my students will remember me ten years down the road.  Thirty years down the road.  How will I have shaped them and their high school experience?

"Remember that teacher?  She was the one who really made me love and appreciate good literature."
"Remember that teacher?  She taught me how to truly write a quality essay and how to come up with a killer thesis statement."
"Remember that teacher?  She was my funnest teacher ever- she always had something awesome prepared for us!"
"Remember that teacher?  She sure didn't put up with a lot, but she taught me how to be responsible and get work done."

or

"Remember that teacher? She was that crazy one who carried her dirty laundry through the hallways to use the school's washer."

Well, I guess it beats living in a haunted house, right?

When Kim gets divorced

Monday, while driving home from school, Hubs sent me a text with a picture of the cover of OK! magazine.  On said cover was Kris Humphries and Kim Kardashian with the caption "Don't leave me!" 

Hubs wrote "I told you so." 

You see, ever since I made Hubs watch a few moments of the Kardashians with me, he has been convinced that the K&K marriage was on the fast track toward divorce.  I, ever-the-optimistic-and-faithful-believer, said the marriage would last.

I didn't fall for his text for a second.  "Ok! magazine is not a credible source!"  I texted back. 

Puh-lease! Doesn't that boy know anything about where he gets his celebrity gossip from?
Ok!- not reliable
People- reliable
Star- not reliable
Celebrities' tweets- reliable
US weekly- not reliable
E! News- reliable 
Come on, Hubs, try to keep up!

Less than a minute later, I was listening to 97.1 (Pay me, you fools!  All I do is advertise for you!) and an announcement came on, "The rumors are true, folks.  Kim Kardashian filed for divorce from Kris Humphries this morning.  Reason for divorce is listed under irreconciable differences." 

97.1- reliable source

Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries, after 72 days of marriage, have called it quits.

Yes, this is the same wedding I was recently watching while experiencing mad fits of jealousy over the millions of dollars worth of diamonds, the multiple wedding dresses, and the endless bouquets of flowers.

Now... I know that I don't know Kim.  And I know I should not be affected by things that happen in her life.  I know that I might actually be a much happier person if I stayed the h*** away from all celebrity gossip. 

But here's the truth of the matter:

I don't stay away from celebrity gossip
I did want Kim's marriage to last
and
I am affected by the news of the divorce.

The reason is this.

I myself am a newlywed.
I have only been married for 235 days.
And I still don't know a lot about marriage.  In fact, I consider myself a very inexperienced and imperfect marriage partner. 

But this is what I do know after a mere eight months...

Sometimes marriage is about making the other person feel loved.  Sometimes marriage is about being there when the other experiences a great disappointment or heartache.  Sometimes marriage is about making sacrifices that you don't want to make.  Sometimes marriage is about working through complete differences of opinion.  Sometimes you get in arguments when you're married.  Sometimes you have to be careful what you say and realize your words can hurt. Sometimes you go to bed upset.  Sometimes you go to bed really upset. Sometimes being married is about patience and working through problems together.  Sometimes marriage is about growing together.  Sometimes marriage brings you such great feelings of peace and protection and love that you get overwhelmed if you think about it too long.  Sometimes your heart is so full of love that you think it'll just burst if there is any more love.  And sometimes you think how in the world did I ever meet this person and convince him to marry me?  And then you have to sit down for a minute and just cry because you realize you are so so blessed to have that person in your life.

And that is why I am affected by the news of Kim's divorce. 

Because marriage is wonderful. 

And Kim's missing out. 

Zombie Love

I know you've all been dying to know.

So here it is...

HALLOWEEN 2011

Meet the Bride

She's been dead for fifty years

Meet the Groom

He's been dead for fifty years

But they still manage to find time to spend together...

Watch the groom walk on over to his bride... he just can't live with out her you see...

And he even stole a kiss from his beautiful bride (Oh-la-la!)

Meet Groom's brother, Beetlejuice

And Beetlejuice's lover...

They're quite the clan



And occassionally they even allow whales, cowboys, princesses, and dragons to hang out with them.





Happy Halloween! 

I've never seen anyone so excited as when Hubs set to work on our Halloween costumes.

 I do believe he has dreamed his whole life of being a zombie.

"Bon, can we go to Taylor Maid and buy tons of cool makeup to make us look like true zombies?!?!"

Yes, Hubs.

"Bon, should we run over our clothes with my car so that the look more authentic?"

Yes, Hubs.

"Bon, would you like me to paint blood and dirt all over your costume so that it looks as cool as mine?"

Yes, Hubs.

"Bon, isn't this the most awesome looking and scary costume that you've ever seen?"

Yes, Hubs.

"Bon, when we have a baby can we dress it up like a baby zombie?"

Yes, Hubs.

And that's why we married each other, folks!

P.S.  We won the best costume!  The prize was a gift card to the dollar theatre... provided for by Hubs and I.  If you are wondering if it is awkward to announce to all of your guests that you, yourself, have won the costume contest, and you, yourself, will be taking the prize that you, yourself provided,... the answer is yes.

  Yes, it is.

Happy Halloween!!!

Today is Halloween!

Do you want to know what I'm going to be?

Do you!?  Do you?!  Do you?!

I am going to be....

Shh......

I can't tell you what I'm going to be yet, because it's a big secret!!! 

But I'll tell you this much...

It's going to blow last year's costume out of the water.

OUT OF THE FREAKING WATER, I TELL YOU!

Answer me this: 

What in this world is better than a day to dress up, stay up late, and eat loads and loads of free candy?

Nothing.

My main Halloween post will be tomorrow where I unveil mine and Hubs' costume for the year.  (What will it be?  What will it be?!?)

For now you will have to be satisfied with some Halloween costumes over the years.  And by over the years I mean the past six years.  Pictures from my childhood required way too much effort.  What do you expect from me?  I've been busy preparing for Halloween this weekend!

2004- Tinkerbell! 
Best made Halloween Costume
(and no, I didn't make it, my roommate did...)

2010- Hubs and I "just dating" at this point.
Tooth fairy and little boy who lost his tooth.
Corniest Halloween costume.

2006- Marilyn Monroe
Most Scandalous Halloween costume
(I received some heat from my padres for this one, believe you me!)

 

2009- Gold Diggers
Most creative Halloween costume



Not actually for Halloween- this was for a Harry Potter premiere
But I had to put it in
It's my coolest costume to date.
Hubs refuses to look at the picture.
It makes him sick.
Which means the costume was a success!
VOLDEMORT
Most amazing/disgusting Halloween costume

2006- Pirate. 
Lamest Halloween costume.





2011- Most unique costume
I am Hubs.
But this is only costume #1 that I wore for our ward Halloween party on Friday night. 
The REAL costume for this year will be revealed tonight.
Check in tomorrow
You don't want to miss it!

P.S.  Halloween will always carry a special little place in my heart since last year.  As we were cleaning up from our 2010 Halloween party, Hubs, who at that point was only BoyToy, said to me "Bon, next year we're going to have to go with something real scary.  No more of this cutesy stuff."

And that's how I first knew Hubs wanted to marry me.

Because who plans a year in advance if you don't want to marry the person?!?!

And if that isn't a Halloween love story, I don't know what is.

***Disclaimer*** The pictures aren't in chornological order.  And the formatting is a disaster.  This is because blogger is dumb.  The user of blogger (*ahem* me) is often sometimes dumb.  This is the best you're going to get today, so don't leave me some comment saying this post don't look professional enough.  I don't want to hear it!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to work on my killer costume and dip some caramel apples.

Hubs' first wife

Sometimes Hubs brings up the old wife.

His first wife.

I don't really like talking about her.

Fine.  I have jealousy issues.  I said it.

Hubs will give me a hug, look deep into my muck colored eyes and say:

"I love you...

...But I miss my first wife."

Her.

This is a picture of Hubs and his first wife on the day of their marriage:

(SECRET:  Hubs has really only been married once.

He thinks he's been married twice.

This is because two months into the marriage, I drastically changed the color of my hair.

Thus... the end of Hubs' first wife.

And the emergence of a new wife.

Wife #2, if you will.)

The new wife is the girl NEXT to Hubs, not the girl above him.  The girl above him
is my sister, Mary, and if that was Hubs' new wife then we'd really have
a problem on our hands.

Hello new wife.  You look great with your new hair color.  Why, thank you.

Hubs is smart in that he only protests something if he is really really adamantly passionately opposed.  (And then he protests hard!)  Otherwise, he'll  just subtly joke about it until I realize he doesn't like it.  Sometimes it takes me months to figure out his true feelings.  (If you don't believe me, please take a look at our bright green walls.  I am just now starting to catch on to Hubs' sly hints that he's not a big fan.)

You see, I have thought all along that Hubs was okay with the brown hair. 

But I realized the other day that he is bringing up the first wife with more and more frequency. 

Yes...

Her.

Even when I specifically ask him not to talk about her.

I'm getting the feeling now that he wants me to kill the second wife, resurrect the first wife, and allow him to live the life with the first wife that he always thought he'd live (say that ten times fast!) 

His hints are getting more blatant.

Last week he asked, "So when is my first wife coming back?  Do you know?"

"I have no idea.  I never talk to your first wife," I answered.  And left the room.

A couple of days ago we were driving along in the car, you know, chatting about life like young married couples do.  We had just been with a group of friends, and I told Hubs that if I died he had my permission to marry one of our friends, Zoie.  You see, Zoie is hilarious and if anything happened to me, heavens knows Hubs would need someone pretty dang funny to take my place.  Also, Zoie rocks bright red lipstick and that is truly hard to find!

Hubs just shook his head.  He obviously was not down with my idea.

"To start with, if you died I would murder Zoie because I would suspect her of being the one who killed you."

Wow.  I didn't expect that.

Hubs went on, "Secondly, I already have someone picked out for if you die."

"What?!?!"

I was... let's see...how to describe my feelings at this point...

shocked? 
insanely jealous? 
morbidly offended? 

"Oh yah, and exactly who would you marry?" I demanded.
"I'd go back to my first wife!" Hubs chimed happily.

Oh.

Her.

Last night I dyed my hair.

Darker than before.

You see...

I'm a very jealous person.

And I don't want that first wife coming anywhere near my husband.

Why my students can't focus.

Today

my students are taking a test

a hard test

on Of Mice and Men

fifty short answer questions

and an essay...

Analyze George and Lennie's relationship

healthy or unhealthy?

How does it change throughout the novel?

What does the novel say about unfulfilled dreams?

How does it reflect American life in the 1930s?

My essays are not easy.

But the poor kids, you see.

They are having a hard time concentrating.

Their Focus is gone

For outside the classroom window they can see

Mr. Lance's physics class.

Doing a physics experiment

of sorts

dropping pumpkins off the roof of the school.

Measuring...

 velocity?

Force?

Who knows?

Every few minutes we hear a bang

 a crash

a pumpkin dropping

 a pumpkin splitting

kids cheering outside

Physics has never been such a blast!

My students are distracted

I see them sneaking peeks

out the window.

What is going on out there?

It sounds like fun.

They can't tear their eyes away.

The essays call for my students

"Finish me!  Finish me!"

but the students have checked out

of the essay,

maybe never to return.

You see,

Life in the 1930s is not as interesting

to them

as pumpkins

And really

who could concentrate on a thesis statement

when just outside the window

kids are

throwing pumpkins

launching pumpkins

destorying pumpkins

smashing pumpkins

???



The weirdest things

Sometimes the weirdest stuff happens to me.

Take yesterday for example.

The last bell of the day had rung, school was wrapping up, and I was working on a few odds and ends before heading home.

Enter:  Brad.

Brad was a student last year.  He hated me.  And I didn't much care for him, either, if you want to know the truth of the matter.  He didn't hand any of his assignments in, showed up late for class every single class, and was always trying to distract the other students.  In my favorite class, too!  How dare he!

One morning I showed up to work at 7 am only to be accosted by Brad's mother who had been waiting outside my door. 
She demanded to know why Brad had an F. 
I showed her the gradebook. 
She demanded I let him hand in a writting assignment that was due a month ago. 
I said no. 
She told me that there has to be exceptions to every rule and I can't treat all students the same because everyone learns differently, and a good teacher would let Brad hand the assignment in, and what did I know anyway because I was just some young, dumb first year teacher?
I said that if Brad had shown an inch of effort even once during the school year I might be more yielding.
She asked me if I knew of a teacher that Brad would work better with.
This is when I got kind of sassy.
"You mean a teacher who doesn't assign any writing and who doesn't expect their students to adhere to deadlines and learn to be responsible?  Maybe you should teach him English."

She didn't like that much.

Brad's mom left. 
I sat down and cried.

This job requires real thick skin and sometimes my skin is thin.

I fully expected Brad to transfer out of my class that day.  Instead he came to class, avoided eye contact, and put his head down for the entirety of the period.  A week passed, Brad was still coming.  The end of the quarter came and Brad stayed.  I was shocked when he was still with us at the end of the year.

In my year with Brad, he managed to hand in one writing assignment. It was a page and a half long.  All one sentence.  Not a period, comma, or capitalized letter in sight.  The paper was an insult to me as a teacher.  I knew Brad was capable of so much more, but I saw it as his 16 year old way of sticking it to the man.  (Believe it or not, Brad, I've been there before, and I know all about getting upset with the man.) 

It was like I could hear Brad's taunting voice as I read his paper.  "Yah, you're going to make me do writing to pass your class?  Ok, but you can't make me spell right.  You can't make me punctuate.  Enjoy reading this paper, suck-ah!"

I gave Brad a 50% and told him his mechanics were an embarrassment to our country.  Then I remembered my college profs told me that in every paper I read, I need to comment something positive.  (You can't just tear those kids down completely, people!  They're sensitive!)   So, as an after thought, I scribbled "Great Voice!"

I breathed a sigh of relief when last year was over and Brad was out of my class.

This year, when checking my rolls a few days before school began, I searched carefully to see if Brad would be joining me as a junior.  He would not.  Life was good.

That's why it was weird when Brad strutted into my classroom yesterday afternoon.

"Brad!  What in the world are you doing here?"
"I want to see if I can switch in to your class."
My jaw hit the floor.
"What?!!?!?!?!"
"I want to see if I can switch in to your class."
"You're joking."
"No..."
"Brad. You hated me last year."
"That's not true.  I just always came in late and that pissed you off for some reason."
"Aaaaaaand you never did your homework...Aaaaaaand the only paper you ever turned in was just one sentence..."
"Yah... I didn't too good on punctuation and crap.  But you said I had great voice!"  He added with a goofy grin.  (While I'll be!  My profs were right!  He remembered the one positive thing I had ever said to him!)
"But... why would you want to switch in?"  I was vainly trying to get Brad to change his mind.  "I assign a lot of writing.  And we read like a million books in my class.  I was surprised you survived last year to be honest with you."
"I know...  I was too, actually.  But now I really miss your class.  You were a good teacher."

Well!  Thank you!  It's about time someone started getting some credit around here!

Kids these days, they can be quite baffling!  I spent last night and the better part of this morning thinking about how weird it was that Brad wanted to switch back into my class after the utter Hell he had inflicted upon me last year.

This morning during my prep period, I was pondering the above mentioned incident when Weird thing #2 happened.

A kid I have never seen before wandered in to my classroom. 
"I don't know you" Boy said.
"I don't know you either," I replied.
"What's your name?" Boy asked
"None of your business."
"Are you new here?"
"Not really.  I taught last year."
"Oh."

And Boy left.

And then....

IF THAT WASN'T WEIRD enough....

Weird thing #3 happened in second period... a girl was sitting at her desk eating out of a tub of frosting with a fork. 

In class. 

Fork.

Frosting.

Blame all the weirdness on Halloween?

(PS... I'm sorry, but this post will have no picture.  It's just that I tried to google "weird" on google images and saw some of the most disturbing pictures I have ever seen, and now I don't want to do another internet search for at least 3 hours, so please forgive me, you will be pictureless today.)

Welcome to the world, baby girl!

Hiya Emery!

My brother, Dennis, and his wife, Ashley, had their first little baby yesterday. 

Yes, I am now once again hankering for a baby.

Yes, Hubs is once again seeing if he can rent a giant teddy bear for the week.

Emery Ashley Blackburn weighed in at nine pounds seven ounces and put in a helluva fight to get into this world! (If I put the swear word with other words and combine them like that, it's not really swearing).  First Emery was four days past her due date, THEN she made her mama struggle in labor for 24+ hours, THEN Emery was upside down, THEN she decided maybe she'd actually like to come out via C-section.

Hate to tell you Dennis and Ashley, but this girl's gonna be high maintenance!

Now... I, being the loving, caring, full-of-wisdom aunt that I am, decided to help Emery out a little bit.  You see, I've been a girl in this world for 25 years now.  She's only been a girl in this world for 25 hours.  So I think I'm entitled to teach her a thing or two.

1.  Your dad is a real softy.  He tries to play tough, but he's not, so if you play your cards right, you'll be able to get just about anything you could ever want from him.

2.  Your mom's got real good fashion sense.  Take advantage of it, and learn to like shopping now, because you're going to be doing alot of it!

3.  If you need someone to sneak you to the mall to get your ears pierced, I'm the gal.

4.  God already gave you a bomb family.  Now you get to pick your friends.  Choose them wisely, especially in college, because those people will help you through some tough times.

5.  One day you are going to hit puberty.  If you start mensturating on a 9th grade field trip to Goblin Valley and somebody points it out to you while you are climbing a huge ol' rock, don't even worry bout it.  It's happened to the best of us.  Your life as you know it is not actually over, as you might think in that moment.  You'll survive and live to tell the tale.

6.  Your first kiss probably won't be that awesome.  You'll have a lot of expectations and the kiss will let you down.  Your first kiss with your future husband, though- that's something you can look forward to!

7.  I know your parents try to eat pretty healthy.  So if you need chips and salsa, coke, ice cream, or fruit gushers, head right on over to Aunt Bon's!  I'll hook you up.

8.  You don't have to go on a mission if you don't want to.  Your mom might want you to stay home and be where she can always call you.  But if you do want to go, just know that it'll be one of the best decisions you've ever made and will change your life. I'll send you cookies and letters and be your #1 fan while you're out there.

9.  Mary, Mindy, and Becky are alright, but you need to know that I'm the coolest of the sisters.  I'll gladly take the role of favorite aunt.

10.  If you could get yourself a little sister some time soon it will make your life so much better.  I wouldn't be half the person that I am today without my little sis guiding me along (*Hint* Dennis and Ashley... Emery needs a little sis...)

11.  Sometimes life gets a little rough, even for the toughest of us.  But we'll be here for you- helping you, cheering you on, and loving you to pieces. 

Welcome to the clan!



When coupons turn ugly...

I've gone too far.

This whole cutting coupons/ price matching/ saving a quarter here/ saving $.35 here... it's reached it's limit.

It happened Saturday night.

I had been procrastinating grocery shopping all week long.  Finally, late Saturday afternoon when Hubs was busy, I figured "Ok, I'll hurry and get this done, make my list, price match the items I need to buy, cut the coupons, an hour tops and I'm outta there!  I'll be home in time to go on a date with Hubs!"

Girls who know how to cook don't understand me.  I don't understand girls who know how to cook.  I know this shouldn't be such an ordeal everytime I have to go grocery shopping, but oh, is it ever.  Every week I have to plan out exactly what we are going to eat, and then buy the exact ingredients to make it.  There is no messing around in the kitchen, no fun experiments.  A little of this a little of that and we've got a delicious meal?  Forget about it. Not for me. 

As I was sitting there making my grocery list, an idea dawned on me.  Maybe it'd be more fun if I got Hubs to come with me!

"Hubs!  You want to come grocery shopping with me?"  I tried to trick him with my enthusiasm.
Surprise, surprise.  He did not.  He wanted to go out.  You know, like on a date, it being Saturday night and all. 

But he at least came up with a compromise.
"Tell you what, I'm not going to hike around Wal-mart and match all your coupons with you for three hours, but I'll go to Macey's and get the stuff that we need at least for tomorrow."

So I agreed.  We stopped at Macey's for potatoes on our way home from a Saturday night date, and that was the end of the grocery drama.

Well almost.

There was just one problem.

I'm out of diet coke.

I drink diet coke prolificly  (I know that word doesn't fit there.  But I like it.  So it stays!)

And so, after putting the bag of potatoes in our grocery cart, we caroused on over to the drink aisle.  Twelve packs of diet coke were "on sale" for 3/$12.  You call that a sale, Macey's?!  I can get those things down to $2 a pop at Wal-mart! And you want me to pay $4?!?  It's highway robbery, people!

I stood in that aisle for a good minute, debating if I should fork over $4 for something I could get for $2.  Was a Sunday without soda worth saving two measley bucks? 

No!  It was not!  And I threw that diet coke in the cart and went on my merry way.

"Good job," Hubs congratulated me,  "you'll be happy tomorrow when you're craving a coke."
"Darn right I will!"  I felt good about my decision.

Register time.  Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

"Wait a minute," I said to the cashier.  "I thought the diet coke was supposed to be 3 for $12.  Why is it ringing up at $4.67?"  I don't miss a beat at that cash register, I tell you.

"That's only if you buy three,"  the cashier replied,  "If you just buy one it stays at full price."
"Ok, just forget it.  I don't want to buy it," I said, frustrated and ornery at this point.  I was not going to pay five bucks for soda when I knew I could get it for two on Monday.  I'd just have to wait.

Hubs watched all this in silence.

Walking out the car, Hubs said, "You could have gotten that diet coke.  It was only an extra $.67.  I don't think you should be stressing about such an insignificant amount of money."
"It's the principle of the thing!" I snapped.  "They're trying to rob me!  It all adds up!  I'm not paying five bucks for soda!"

Hubs knew better than to speak again.

Sunday came and went.  Let's just say a Sunday without diet coke is a long Sunday.  No little lunch sip, no dinner companion, no friendly late-night drink with my popcorn.

This morning I woke up with a pounding, bursting, splitting, intolerable headache.  My pain tolerance= zero, so from the hours of 6-8 am, I was absolutely not functioning because of the headache.

What always helps my headaches?  A diet coke. 

Who doesn't have a diet coke?  This girl.

What school sells diet coke in the vending machine?  Copper Hills.

How much do these diet cokes cost?  Sixty five cents.

Who forked over the sixty five cents first thing this morning to get a diet coke?  You guessed it.

The irony is not lost on me.
I went to all the trouble to save what ended up being two cents.

TWO.

LOUSY.

CENTS.

Curse my pride.  Curse my stubbornness.  Curse price matching.

And most of all,  curse TLC for ever running that extreme couponing show that started it all.

Pumping plasma

I didn't sleep too well last night.

I tossed and turned, I woke up every twenty minutes and looked at the clock to check the time.  Was it 9:00 yet?  Should I just get up now?  Toss.  Turn.  Bad dream.  Toss.  Check clock.  Toss. Turn.

Finally, at 8:00 I got up.  I'm on fall break, so techinically I should be sleeping in until 10:00 and not feeling a drop of guilt for it.  But I just couldn't.  I got up and drank a bunch of water and scooped myself a bowl of ice cream.  (I realize at some point in my life, my body will force me to change my eating habits.  Fortunately, that time has not yet come.)

Hubs got up about 9:00.  "Drink some water!" was the first thing I said to his sleepy- confused face.  "You have to be hydrated.  And you need to eat something too!"

Today was the day.
The day to donate plasma.

I've never done this before.  My brother, Reed, practically got himself through college by giving plasma twice a week.   Hubs' friend has donated over 70 times.  You get anywhere from $30-50 every time you donate and after the first time it only take 60-90 minutes to donate.  Not a bad hourly job. 

You see, high school English teachers aren't making as much as they should now days and Hubs quit at the Olive Garden because his schedule was too busy, so we be needing a little extra funds.  Originally, I was going to make Hubs donate on his own because well... I'm just a little girl afraid of big needles.  I told him I'd offer encouragement, go with him, you know, the whole supportive spouse shiz.  But then I figured as long as I was there, I might as well cowboy up, donate some plasma, and make a buck or two.

We arrived at the plasma center four minutes late.  It was my fault.  Maybe if we got there late they wouldn't let us donate?  I was hopeful. 

No such luck.  You're a little late?  No problem.

"Bonnie, we're going to need you to come with us," a stern man said.  I read his nametag.  Hugh.
He led me to the room where people were donating their plasma.  There were a lot of big machines.  And a lot of big needles.

"Brian!  I need a check on this girl!  I don't think she can donate, you can hardly even see her veins."
A long haired man with a clear face mask strutted over to me.

"Pump." He commanded.
"Excuse me?"  I was lost.
"Pump." He repeated.
"I don't..."
"Lady, pump your arm.  Squeeze your fist."
"Oh, okay..."
I did so.  People at the plasma center don't have time for games, you know.
I pumped.  Squeeze.  Release.  Squeeze.  Release.
Brian stared at my arm.  "We're not going to be able to use your right arm at all.  I can't even see a vein.  Left arm."
"Excuse me?"
"Pump your left arm."
"Oh."  I did so.  He felt around for a vein.
Finally he came to a conclusion.
"There's a small vein here that I can work with.  She's good."
And that was that.  First test- passed.  

Next, Hugh took me to a room for some questions. 
"Sit down in the red chair in the corner," Hugh commanded.
I sat down.
"Is that a red chair in the corner?"
I looked at the chair I was sitting in.  It was black.  In the middle of the room.
"My bad..."  I moved to the correct chair.  These people don't let you get away with much!
Hugh gave me a big book.  "Read every word in here."
I began reading.
Then I saw Hubs walk in, and a lady took him to the other side of the room.  I started watching Hubs.  I can get quite distracted by him you know.
"Are you reading?"  Hugh was staring at me.
"Oh... I'm sorry..."
Suddenly I felt like one of the students in my classroom.
I looked down at the binder, but I wasn't reading it.  I was just staring at the words on the page, so take that, Hugh!  

Hugh began to fire questions at me. No, I have never lived in the Congo since 1977; No, I have never injected myself with illegal drugs; No, I have not been pregnant in the past six months; No, I have never witnessed an ape murder in France... just making sure you're still with me, folks.

"Do you have any allergies?" Hugh asked.
I've always gotten allergies in the spring and fall, but what if that makes me ineligible to donate?  The allergies are mild enough, I better just keep mum.
"No," I answered.
"Never in your life have you had an allergy to anything?"  Wow.  Hugh was good.
"Well... in high school I used to get allergies in the spring..."
"And you haven't had any allergies since high school?  None at all?  They just magically disappeared?"  It was like he was drilling into my soul.
I don't lie well under pressure.
"I still get them sometimes now.  In the fall and spring."
"Okay, I'm going to write down seasonal allergies on here.  And tell the truth from now on.  It's important."
I felt dumb.  I wanted to leave.  Hubs was passing his interview with flying colors.  I could see him laughing with his interviewer on the other side of the room. I always get stuck with the meanies.
"Did you have a healthy meal before you came in this morning?" Hugh drilled.
"Yes."
"What exactly did you eat?"
"A piece of toast and a bowl of ice cream with peaches."
"And you think that is healthy?"
"Well I guess it's all relative."
"That's not healthy.  Ice cream isn't healthy."  Now Hugh was giving me honesty lessons and nutrition lessons.
"After your screening, you need to come in here and grab one of these cup of noodles and eat it."
"Yes, sir."
"You are dismissed."
I couldn't get out of there fast enough.  I bolted from the question room.

I waited in the lobby with Hubs for the next part of the ordeal.  I was beginning to seriously consider my decision to donate.  Was this really worth $40?  "Bonnie.  We are ready for your screening.  Go to door #3,"  they announced.

I obeyed.  I was learning a thing or two about listening around this place, I can tell you that much.  I entered Room 3 to see Hugh sitting at the desk.  Damn.  I thought my time with him was over.

Hubs got called, and I could hear him entering the room next to mine.  He got the nice lady.  Once again.  I could hear them laughing.  Joking.  They seemed to be getting along quite swimmingly.  Hugh didn't even look at me. 
"Put out your finger."  He ordered.  I obeyed.  He didn't seem to give a hoot that I was nervous as all get out to give my plasma. 
"Ouch!" I screamed.  Hugh had violenty stabbed my finger with a needle.  I was beginning to think we got joy out of watching my suffer.
"What did you expect?" he asked.
He drew a bit of my blood, put it in a weird testy thingy (sorry, but I can really offer no better description than that) and then asked me a series of questions.  The exact same questions he had already asked me.  I answered.  Then he tested my blood.  Hydration level- check, protein levels- check, sexy level- check.  I was good to go.

Next came the physical.
I entered the phsyical room to see a woman staring back at me.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  It appeared that Hugh would not be continuing with me on the journey.
The lady asked a bunch of questions: 
What surgeries have you had?  What year?  How long was recovery time?  What prescriptions are you on?  What pills have you taken within the past 30 days?  Etc. Etc. 
I answered them all truthfully and faithfully, Hugh had taught me well, afterall. 
"Okay, now I am going to do an exam on your body, there will have to be some bare skin contact," the lady warned me. 
"Alright, fine, that's no problem."  Because seriously- I have no problem with that. 

"Lift up your shirt, I need to place this just below your left breast."
I lifted my shirt up all the way, flashing the innocent victim.
"Oh, no, no, I just need the area right below your left breast." 
The lady was turning red.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have misheard you."

Welp, I bet that lady got more than she bargained for when she came into work this morning.

I wasn't trying to be a pervert.  I honestly thought that that was what I was supposed to do.  Just trying to not get into trouble around this Nazi place.

After I passed the physical, it was time to wait in line with everyone else to give my plasma.  Hubs was in line right beside me, holding my hand, telling me not to worry, everything was going to be just fine.
"That's easy for you to say!  You've had nice people helping you all morning!"  I wasn't resentful at all.

"Bonnie."  They called.
I gulped.
I kissed Hubs goodbye (this might be the end, afterall.)
I walked into the room with the big machines that suck your blood.

A man named Sam helped me get settled in a big chair. 
"Let's see here," he said, looking at my chart. "Looks like we can't take from your right arm, only your left arm is suitable." 
"Yes, sir." 
I was sweating.
"Okay, don't worry, you're almost done here.  You've done great so far.  This is only going to take about thirty minutes, and then you'll be out of here." 
I found Sam to be strangely comforting.
"I know it's already been a long day, you had to answer a bunch of weird questions about Africa, someone stabbed your finger with a needle..."
I laughed.  Not bad, Sam, not bad.  He was doing almost as good a job as making me feel better as Hubs!
"Pump," he commanded. 
No problem, I had already done this before!  I pumped.  Squeeze.  Release.  Squeeze.  Release. 
Sam talked to me while I pumped.  "This isn't my first time sticking a needle in someone's arm," he told me, "In fact I've done it more than 7,000 times."
Wow.  Sam was doing a dang good job at making me feel safe.  You can't argue with a man with 7,000 sticks under his belt can you?
 
Sam apparently couldn't find my vein that Long-Hair-Brian had spotted two hours ago.
"Okay, let's try your right arm."
I considered telling him that Brian had already deemed my right arm completely unusable, but I decided to just let him figure it out the hard way.

"Okay, pump..."
I pumped.  Squeeze.  Release.  Squeeze.  Release.
No vein was showing itself.
"Hmm... this might be a little hard," said Sam.

He left.
I did not know where he went.
I was nervous.
Then he came back.
With Brian.

"This is the best guy we have, so he's going to stick your arm.  Your veins are so small that they require someone with more experitse.
"More expertise than 7,000 sticks?!?"
Sam laughed.  "Don't be nervous, you're going to be fine."

Brian switched back over to the left arm.  "The right arm is completely unusable." He echoed his words from two hours earlier, "We'll have to make a vein from her left arm work."
"Pump" he ordered me.
I was becoming quite good at pumping by now, so this part came easy.  Squeeze.  Release.  Squeeze.  Release.
"I might have made a mistake passing her through to give plasma," Brian told Sam, "I thought I could get the needle in the vein, maybe I was being too confident..."

I kept squeezing.
Brian wasn't making me feel too comfortable about this.

"Okay, Bonnie, we're going to go for it.  I promise you I would not try this if I wasn't certain that we could do it.  I have gotten plasma from smaller veins before, and you're going to be fine.  Now look the other way and talk to Sam."

I looked the other way.  Sam had a big goofy grin on his face.  "I notice you've got some books in your lap," Sam said, "I used to own a used book store..."  Wow.  Sam nailed the conversation topic.  He successfully got my mind off the needle. 

If I had two pieces of advice for the plasma center, it would be this: 
Fire Hugh. 
Give Sam a raise.

Prick.  Prick.  Ouch.  The needle was going in.
Nothing.
Then.
Prick.  Prick.  It was going in again.  They were moving it around.
It doesn't feel that good getting a huge needle stuck in a small vein.

Then.
"Okay, Bonnie, your ordeal here today is over."
"You got it in?!?!"  I was elated.  This guy really was the best sticker in the place!

"No... I thought I could get that needle in, but as soon as I tried to put the needle in, the vein ripped.  I could keep trying, but your best vein already ripped and it is likely that would keep happening if we tried with your other ones.  Unfortunately, your veins really are too small for needles of this size.  It looks like donating plasma is not for you."

They gave me a little slip of paper, told me I would still get paid for that day, and to wait in the lobby.  I saw Hubs on my way out,  hooked up no problem, his giant vein successfully pumping out all the plasma that center could ever dream of.

I stopped to talk to him.  "It was so sad, Hubs- they tried both my arms for the longest time and they poked around and Sam was cracking jokes and I was---"
"Ma'am get off the floor right now.  We're already busy enough as it is," I was cut off.  A woman worker was glaring at me.  Probably Hugh's girlfriend.
Sheesh. 
People around here.  They don't give you an inch of leeway.
And I left the floor. 

Don't tell Hubs this, but as I sat in the lobby, waiting for him to finish, watching all the people come in and out of the plasma center, I was secretly relieved.  Very relieved.  I'll face a roomful of bratty sixteen year olds any day before I have to deal with the likes of Hugh and a needle of that size again. 

My veinless arm.  It saved my life.