You Wish You Had My Friends

"Look at me. I'm your new something shiny."

-MW, trying to get my attention

"But they can look at your chart and see that you're 

actually a toddler."

-Karey, after we discussed that I'm glad for a different doctor 

each time I go to urgent care since I've gone for an iron burn, pink eye, 

a cough, and a hurt back after trampolining

What 31 Years of Marriage Looks Like

Daddy: That was a fox pause.

Bonnie: [confused look]

Mom: Faux pas* 

*foh pah

Confession of the Week

"Drunk Bonnie is an oracle."

-Gloria

Last week, I was mildly panicking about meeting my two favorite bloggers next month at their book signing and had this IM conversation with Gloria:

G: But there will be wine!
B: Oh, yeah, because Drunk Bonnie makes great decisions.
G: Drunk Bonnie is an oracle.

This made me laugh so much. I guarantee the next time Drunk Bonnie makes an appearance she will tell everyone she is an oracle.

(Parents: I'm a grown up and I'm not embarrassed for you to know these things. But if you want to skip this next part that's totally fine.)

Because I don't believe in being ashamed of my mistakes, a few things that Drunk Bonnie has done:

• Called, e-mailed, texted, and tweeted at everyone she's ever known. Twice. Or 40 times.
• Fell down in front of a cop and declared, "It's ok, I fall when I'm sober!"
• Blurted out things.
• PDA all over the place.
• Explained the football metaphor to her boss. (Don't ask.)
• Cried in a restaurant bathroom and had the manager follow her in to make sure she was alright.
• Accused a certain Duke basketball player of being a homosexual. (Only to his face on the TV but, still, Sober Bonnie doesn't do that.)
• Re-formatted her computer after it got a virus. (Really, that happened.)

Conversation with a Child

Today was not a good day. So not a good day that I ended up on the phone crying with my Mom while sitting on the steps outside a hotel in downtown D.C. Nothing bad, just the combination of the stress of jury duty, being away from work, allergies, and lack of sleep.

After a brief and frustrating trip to Forever 21, I went to the library to pick up a book. While at the counter, a girl of about 8 or 9 started talking to me.

Girl: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Girl: What's your name?
Me: Bonnie
Girl: I'm Olivia.
Me: That's pretty.
Girl: What does your name mean?
Me: Ummm...uhhhhh...fa-...it means pretty. Sorry thanks bye.

Then I left and went to the bathroom. Which I needed to do anyway but probably could have made a smoother exit.

Now, let's back up. I love my name, I do. I love that I'm named after my mom's mom. However, I have to be honest, I don't love that it means "beautiful."

The meaning of my name immediately takes me back to a day in the 8th grade when we had to present the meaning of our name to the class. I had to stand in all my pre-pubescent glory -- stringy bangs, buck teeth, micro boobs, knobby knees -- and explain that my name meant "beautiful." Um, no. So I went with "fair."

I'm generally fine with the way I look, in large part due to the presence of confidence and the absence of the stringy bangs, buck teeth, and knobby knees. (No comment on the boobs.) But I still usually default to explaining my name as meaning "fair." Except today, for some reason, I thought this child wouldn't know what that meant so I went with "pretty." And then apologized. Because I:

• Felt guilty for the fact that I was so not pretty today? 
• Had red eyes, runny mascara, messy hair, and a glowing pimple? 
• Wasn't in the best state of mind and needed to acknowledge it before bailing?
• Was just an awkward and crazy mess?

Ding ding we have a winner! But apparently it didn't phase Olivia too much because as I left she waved goodbye and said, "Bye, Bonnie!"

And I smiled all the way home. So thanks, "peaceful" Olivia, for giving me some peace at the end of a crappy day.

Overheard in DC: Capes and Spies. Oh my!

Last night I went to the Kennedy Center to see the musical "Memphis." (It was only ok.) While out and about, I overheard a few bits of conversations that had to be shared.

On the shuttle to the metro:
"I think I saw a person in a cape today. It looked like a batman cape. I was thinking, 'It's 9:30 in the morning on a Tuesday. Why are you in a cape?'"

This made me smile given my own recent caped outing. I really wanted to tap her on the shoulder and ask if it was the timing of the cape she objected to, or just the cape itself.

On the metro, a presumably not-quite-there woman talking out loud:  
"You don't want to go there. The cat is not black."

I thought this was just amazing. The cat is clearly code for something, but what? Is it good that it's not black, or bad? Is she using it as a synonym for kosher or something similar? I must know!

But, seeing as this is D.C., and I've seen too many episodes of "Alias," I've decided she's not actually a crazy metro lady, but is a spy. Maybe she was delivering a message to her handler, who was elsewhere in the car.

So, yeah, basically I've intercepted a coded spy message. Don't be too jealous.

Who does that?

Due to that don't-know-how-to-drive thing, I spend a lot of time on public transportation. With all kinds of people. The vast majority are normal people just trying to get from Point A to Point B. Then there are the Other People. The clip their nails on the metro kind. (Seen three times.) The pick their nose on the bus kind. (Seen so many times.) The stare at you so long you get off a stop early to get away from them kind. (Happened once.) And now I can add the give you back your hair kind.

This morning, on the bus from the metro to my office, I had a seat to myself, earbuds in, staring out the window. There was a 20ish woman behind me eating an apple--which is such a gross thing to do on the bus--and then a 20ish man in a suit sat beside her. About two blocks from my stop, I hear him start to talk to her. Now, it's a well-known rule that you don't talk to strangers on the bus, so naturally I had to listen to see what was going on. This is how the conversation went:

Man: I think this is yours.
Woman: What?
Man: Here, I think this is yours.
Woman: That hair? That's not mine.
My Inner Monologue: No way, he did not just try to give her back a piece of her hair! What!?
Woman: That's longer and darker than mine. I think it's hers.
Man: Ok.
MIM: What in the hell is happening?!

Then the man reaches his hand around to the seat beside me and DROPS A PIECE OF HAIR ON IT. Without saying anything. I glance up in shock/disdain as he sits back and the woman laughs a little. (I was too angry at this point to determine if it was a "don't upset the crazy man" laugh or a genuine "hilarious, he gave her back her hair" laugh.)

So yes, I lost a piece of hair on the bus this morning and the man behind me felt the need to return it, not exactly to me, but to the seat beside me. Who does that? I wasn't flipping it around. I didn't yank a piece out and throw it at him. I didn't stand over him brushing it. If you ride public transportation you're going to have to get used to seeing way worse things than a lone strand of hair.

Filled with such incredulity that I couldn't breathe or speak, I practically ran from the bus as anger consumed me. But was I over-reacting? Considering what I've written about my hair in the past, the fact that I'm ok losing a strand here and there says a lot. Me gathering loose strands, would be crazy. A man returning a strand to me, also crazy! It's just a hair! (Verdict: Not over-reacting.)

After telling the story to my male coworker, he posited the theory that the man was trying to find a reason to talk to either of the women near him. "But giving back a piece of hair?!" I asked/yelled. "Yes, men will try anything to talk to women," he said. Then my head exploded and I decided to remain single for the rest of my life.

But first I tweeted it, because I wasn't done expelling my rage. And I'm glad I did because my brother tweeted a reply back that instantly calmed me and put everything in perspective:

well atleast he didnt smell it and put it in a envelope.

I can't argue with that, baby brother. I can, however, ensure that the next time I walk on that bus I do so shaking my head and flinging bits of hair about like I'm in a mosh pit.

, and me.

"These lessons lay below the surface, but when I began to write, they rose like flowers and bloomed into words and stories and books, and me."

-Sallie Tisdale, Vogue

Journal collection, 2008

Certain Magnificence

"It is not really necessary to look too far into the future, we see enough already to be certain it will be magnificent. Only let us hurry and open the roads."

-Wilbur Wright

  

Wright Brothers Memorial

Kitty Hawk, NC

I consider myself neither optimistic nor pessimistic, more like just realistic. But I appreciate Wilbur's optimism in this sentiment. Granted, he was in the process of forever changing history by daring to assert that (wo)man could fly, so I'm sure it was looking pretty magnificent from where he was sitting. His words just scream faith to me. Faith that hard work will pay off. Faith that every setback is an opportunity. Faith in a vision of the future. I'm far too realistic right now to have that much faith in certain magnificence, but it's a really nice idea. A really nice idea.

Just thinking

"Perfection feels too ordinary a goal unless
you change the definition."

-Emily Holt, Vogue

Not saying I agree or disagree, but it is an interesting thought.

Loch Lomond, Scotland

Good advice

A post on my obsession with "Parks and Recreation" will be forthcoming. But, for now, I leave you with this.

"Protect your friends. You only have one hometown. If you think you’ve had a bad date, remember, it can always get worse. And it’s okay to eat breakfast for dinner."

-Amy Poehler, after she was asked what she has learned from Leslie Knope

Just having a good time

Josh: This magical land in your head where everything just happens because you want it to, is it fun there?

Brent: I'm having a good time.

-Fabulous Beekman Boys

First of all, if you aren't watching "The Fabulous Beekman Boys" on Planet Green, you should start immediately. My family got me watching this show last year and I am obsessed. I just read both of Josh's memoirs and ordered my second batch of soap from their website. And speaking of their website, their recipes and how tos have me craving heirloom tomatoes. I have no idea where one finds heirloom tomatoes or why they are any different from my Giant tomatoes, but I need some desperately. My favorite of the boys is Brent. He's from North Carolina and is a bit of an OCD perfectionist. He reminds me of someone I know.

The above quote is from this week's episode. It made me laugh because I live in my head a lot. And for the most part it's not a big deal. It's well-organized and warm. Everything is Carolina blue and shiny. I never lose things and there's always a show on I want to watch.

But last week I made a mistake at work that was at least 50% my fault and it caused a bit of a freak out on my end. (Seriously, who is the OCD perfectionist I am thinking of?) I'm slowly learning that certain things that make perfect sense inside my head, quite frequently, are completely nonsensical once outside my head.

I beat myself up over this and decided I should just start voicing out loud any of my thoughts that might be crazy, just to get a second opinion. But a friend and I agreed that might not be the safest option.

So instead, I'm just going deal with it. And I'm going to stay inside my whacky head. Maybe just ease up on the perfectionism a bit. Because I'm having a good time.

Two years

"[Patti] Smith was 29 when she recorded Horses. Joan Didion was 29 when she wrote her first novel. Tina Fey was 29 when she was named head writer of SNL. bell hooks was 29 when she published her first major work. Oprah had just turned 30 when she got her first local TV talk show.

There is a reason "boy genius" rolls off the tongue more naturally than "girl genius." By the time most of us accept the fact that we have earned this label for ourselves, we are most decidedly no longer girls."

-Ann Friedman article on Patti Smith's "Just Kids."

I know I've been heavy on the quotes lately, but there have just been a lot lately that have spoke to me. And now there's this one. This one I just love so much. 

An inordinate amount of my time is spent worrying over the fact that I haven't figured out what to do with my life yet. Panic attacks because my calling hasn't been found. Anger at working myself sick in high school and college, and still somewhat now, all with the goal of being something when I grow up, and having no idea what that is. Tears because my passions can't pay the rent. 

But, it turns out, I have a little time. I'm 27 years, 2 months, and 22 days old. So I've got two years. I have two years to figure it out. No problem.

Also, must add this. I read Smith's "Just Kids" last month and it's the best book I've read thus far this year. And Tina Fey is my idol and Joan Didion is just brilliant. I read some bell hooks in college and should read more and Oprah has an empire. All are most definitely geniuses.

Choices

"Adulthood is nothing but a series of choices: you can say yes or no, but you cannot avoid saying one or the other. In the end, those who are successful are those who adjust and adapt to the decisions they have made and make the best of them."

-Grant Hill in his New York Times editorial

I'm such a history dork that just about any kind of history intrigues me, including sports history. So ESPN's "30 for 30" series is fascinating to me. Though I have to admit to not yet seeing the Fab Five documentary -- though it is on my DVR -- I have been following the controversy with the remarks the Michigan players made about Duke players. Hill's letter to the editor was eloquent, well-written, and had a lot of good points that apply to far more than just basketball. This point in particular jumped out at me. As I still struggle to get the hang of this "adult" thing, it's nice to get some concrete advice, wherever it appears.

Truth

"The ideas were often elegantly simple and rational; it was in the execution that costs and complications ensued."

-Ada Louise Huxtable in Frank Lloyd Wright: A Life

Image: Robie House, Chicago from Essential-Architecture

That is my life

Last week, for the fourth time in my life, I lost a shoe whilst walking in a crosswalk. Now, when I say lost, it doesn't mean the shoe was actually lost. Shoe came off, I stopped in middle of road, slipped shoe back on, and kept on my merry way.

I was explaining this to some people and this is the conversation that followed.

Anonymous 1: You should put your number inside your shoe, so it will be like Cinderella and someone will find it.
Anonymous 2: That might be the smartest thing you've ever said.
Me: Um, hello! I don't actually leave the shoe behind, I pick it up.
Anonymous 1: Oh, well, maybe you should leave it behind.

Then Anonymous 2 chimed in and they both fantasized about someone coming into my office, putting my shoe back on my foot, declaring it a perfect fit, and then falling madly in love with me.

Sadly, the dating well has been pretty dry lately. And I'd like to say I found this completely preposterous. But, it's not the worst idea ever.

The Pointy Place

I've been sick for more than a week now and Thursday I finally gave in, admitted so, and left work early. On the metro home, in to D.C., I sat behind a tourist family. There are three categories of metro tourists:

1. The unbelievably-obnoxious family in their souvenir shits from their last vacation that talk loudly, step on your toes, stand on the left side of the escalator, and try to pry the doors open. They mispronounce all the metro stops and will almost always realize at the last minute their stop is currently being served and make a mad dash to make it.
2. The quiet, shell-shocked ones that are too afraid of the city and its denizens to do or say anything. They clutch their bags and their maps to their chests and breathe a sigh of relief when they make it to the Smithsonian stop. They will also be the ones staring in confusion when the turnstile won't let them through because they are trying to enter through an exit lane.
   
3. The easy-going ones that make fun of themselves for not knowing which stop they need, try desperately to stay out of the way of commuters, and ask the pros about their Smart Trip cards. They are talkative, but usually amusingly instead of annoyingly so.

On Thursday, thankfully, I was behind the third kind. And they were children, which rarely fall into the third category. One little boy, of between 5-8, was especially talkative and said a few gems that I just had to record.

Upon seeing the Washington Monument as we pulled into the airport stop:
"There's the pointy place! There's the pointy place!"

To one of his travelling companions:
"You definitely have to see Lincoln. He's huge. He's super huge."

As we pulled into the Crystal City stop:
"I love the underground tunnels. They're my favorite, they're the best."

I was in a crummy mood and these brightened my day just a bit.

Overheard: My Life

"I've never heard of an advent calendar...is it Jewish?"
-Anonymous friend

I'm pretty sure he or she was joking about the Jewish part. But he or she really had not heard of an Advent calendar before. I bought one after Christmas last year at Target that I had had my eye on all season. It looks like a house and has 25 little doors the perfect size for a treat. (Or two, as I told he or she that I would put one in for each of us.) When I was younger we had one that we tied peppermints to and ate one each day.

I love little things like this.

According to Chanel

Oy, NaBloPoMo, you're killing me. Writing a post a day is hard when you feel like you have nothing to say. (Which in itself is probably post-worthy—insomuch as anything I write here is—since I'm not sure that has ever happened before.)

I'm reading a book about Coco Chanel right now, so I'll just let her have a word.

"A woman should always be two things:
classy and fabulous."

Friday Soapbox

"Some of the happiest memories of my life are from those early, impossibly sunlit days."

-Sen. Ted Kennedy, True Compass

Davie Poplar, McCorkle Place, UNC Chapel Hill, May 12, 2006

Oh, baby brother

I routinely start posts and never finish them. Thus I have about 20 posts in drafts that I keep around because I'm a pack rat. This is from when Joey visited in September. The kid can make me laugh like no one else.

[on my walking speed]
Joey: You walk like a cyclops!
Me: Um...cyclops aren't exactly known for walking fast. I think they're just known for having one eye.
Joey: No, they are known for their speed, too.

I started to argue that if they only have one eye and walk so fast, they'd probably run into things a lot. Then I remembered that I run into things a lot. Maybe the kid has a point...