Learning to Fly

Here

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Sun, 29 Dec 2013 05:37:00 +0000

It's alive. I'm alive.

While I was feeling burnt out on blogging, and thought I'd take a break for a few weeks, I really never intended to make that more like a break for 20ish weeks. But then life hit.

There was a high-profile, high-pressure project at work with insane deadlines and stress and responsibility. There was a promotion. There was work travel, home travel, and best-friend-getting-married travel. There was a day at the U.S. Open, a week at the beach with the family, then a weekend at the beach with co-workers. There were plays, concerts, and movies. There were crying and breakdowns. There was trying to go in the wrong apartment, using the wrong detergent in the washer, and twice locking myself out of the apartment. There was a broken iPhone screen. There were happy hours, happy hours, and happy hours. There were dinners and brunches with my friends and not-a-dates with some other friends. There was book club. There was nightclub dancing in Miami with my besties and then there was a perfect D.C. wedding.

There was a lot that happened and I'm barely scratching the surface.

I miss blogging and writing and being creative here.

Yet every time I open "Learning to Fly" I realize that title just doesn't describe who I am anymore. I'm not saying I'm not learning or that I'm not still trying to figure it out. I am. Oh I am. It's just not quite as scary, intimidating, and mysterious as it used to be. All of those words and the feelings that accompany them are what I associate with this blog and this title. It's what I was feeling when I started this blog at 22, when the mere idea of learning to fly terrified me to my core.

I turn a new (big) age in a few days. While it's completely freaking me out, I'm not terrified to my core. And while I'm not about to wax nostalgic about the past 8 years, I also can't just say good riddance. I'll just say I'm ok.. I'll just say that I'm starting a new blog, and a new daily blogging project, and you should come along.

http://rainydayrhapsody.blogspot.com/

(This blog will remain but will no longer be updated. The new blog has all of these posts imported. I like everything in its place.)

Wednesday Words

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 05 Jun 2013 19:01:00 +0000

"A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his image."

-Joan Didion, "The White Album"

I'm on a deadline at work that is consuming me so please forgive the lack of blogging. I have lots to say, but if it's not on intelligent compaction of pavement, I don't have the time or energy to say it.

I Know Where You Sleep At Night

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Fri, 31 May 2013 19:50:00 +0000

Or, rather, now you know where I sleep.

Since I'd had the same comforter set since moving to D.C., five and a half years ago, I thought a new duvet and pillows warranted a blog post. Wrong? Oh well, here it is.

The duvet cover, duvet, plus new sheets are from Target. They were on sale last month and after checking them out in person at the store, I ordered them online. They're all from the Threshold line, as is my newish mattress pad that was a Christmas gift.

The duvet cover had to be mine as soon as I saw it. It reminded me so much of an Anthropologie one I loved but didn't want to splurge on. I even contemplated making my own, but wasn't ready to make the commitment. Enter Target.

I haven't had a duvet since my time in London, so I'm still getting used to it. I just toss and turn so much, I have to shake it down every night to keep it straight. Even though it came with corner ties. There's also the fact that I fought to put the duvet in the cover to begin with; I got lost inside 2.5 times. That might be something I should keep to myself.

I also added four new pillows, the two damask-esque ones from Etsy, the center blue one on clearance from Target, and the impossibly tiny monogrammed one from Etsy. Even though I measured before I ordered, 8x8 really is quite small. But it's cute and has a monogram so it's still kind of perfect.

I swear I've even been sleeping moderately better since getting new linens. I mean, I still don't sleep straight through the night and I still never want to get up in the morning, but it feels different.

Cape cape cape

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Fri, 31 May 2013 00:21:00 +0000

Last month my friend, Shana, held her annual birthday cape party bar crawl. This was the fifth time she’s held it and the second time I’ve attended.

Whenever I tell people I’m going to a cape party they are always perplexed. Which I don’t really understand. Who says only superheroes and children can wear capes? Why wouldn’t you want to gather a group of friends and day drink whilst wearing a cape?

It was so much fun. Even though I only made it for a few hours and 3 bars due to extreme exhaustion leftover from brother’s wedding festivities and travelling.

We started in the party room at Shana's apartment building for sandwiches, cupcakes, and drinks.

Then we walked to the first bar. Walking down the street, as a group, wearing capes, really should be experienced by every one at some point in life.

The first bar we attracted the attention of several kids, which is always fun.

Pit stop on the way to the second bar to pet the doggie. Such a good doggie.

At the second bar everyone engaged in some beer pong. I subbed in for a round and drank water.

The third bar was farther away so some raced and some, like those in high heels, ambled. As we got closer, one caper spotted a fellow caper dancing in the road, and skipped to join him. You just have to love it.

The third bar brought another drinking game which I was terrible at. Ping pong balls are just too light and too hard to aim.

The third bar is also where I became the Wearer of The Worst. Shana had buttons that we all put funny sayings and titles on and one was The Worst. Shana got it for buying a round of drinks, Christian got it for yawning, and I got it for being the last to walk in the bar.

My costume was one I had thought of in January: Superstorm Hurricane Sandy from Grease.

Sadly, pretty much no one got it without explanation. They thought I was a lego, a dice, or that I was just supporting equality. Which is ok, because I do support equality.

My hair was nuts to start and then feel steadily throughout the day, of course. Since it required me to sleep with my hair all pinned up, it also may have had something to do with my exhaustion.

I'm sad this is the last year Shana will be doing this, but have no doubt she'll have something equally if not more ridiculous and fun next year. As she said in her thank you email afterward, it's just so nice to have people in your life who will willingly and happily don capes for you. Friends are good like that.

Things I Learned This (Long) Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Thu, 30 May 2013 00:18:00 +0000

Dante was foreshadowing the Crystal City underground when he wrote "The Divine Comedy."
Because Crystal City is a circle of hell. There were many metro delays on Friday evening that had me stuck on a train for about an hour at the CC station. I finally gave up and thought I'd find a bus. Wrong! I wandered around the impossible underground maze of stores, which were eerily devoid of shoppers and owners, for a half hour. On my third trip outside to find a bus, I instead found a cab. Best $25 I've ever spent.

If you love fruit dip and have no self control you shouldn't make fruit dip.
Especially when you're the only one around. But that damn fluff/cream cheese/vanilla mixture is just heaven on strawberries. And a fork.

They really mean "rummage" at a Rummage Sale.
A church at the end of my block had a rummage sale on Saturday, my first rummage! And they really mean rummage. They had tons of clothes in heaps on tarps. I skipped them at first, heading for books and housewares, where I picked up 4 books, a "Votes for Women" packet, a basket, a divided tray, and a solid tray. I then meandered back to the clothes and after spying some nautical flag napkins -- I'm kind of obsessed with nautical flags -- decided to jump in to the heap and dig. (I didn't actually jump, but there was digging.) I found 1 hat, 2 skirts, 1 dress, 1 pair of pants, 2 J Crew wool sweaters, 1 Old Navy sweater vest, and a child's Vineyard Vines polo dress I thought I could wear as a dress. (See more on that below.) What was the grand total for all of this? A whopping $16! (Actually $20 because I donated the change. It's a church!)

I have a big head.
Or at least a head that's too big for a child's dress. I gave it to my co-worker for his daughter. At least it was only a $1.

A sewing machine and a little patience can lead to a new wardrobe.
Or what feels like a new wardrobe. On Saturday I took in six skirts! Two were from the rummage sale and four were from my closet that I've been making fit with safety pins for the last two summers. It was alarmingly easy to take them all in and I'm so happy to have six new (to me) skirts in my repertoire.

The inside of an iron with a retractable cord is a mess.
I dropped my iron for the 100th time, but this time from a distance of about 3 feet on to hardwood floor. The iron still works, but the cord can no longer be stored neatly within.

The Jonathan Adler store is pretty.
And expensive. His store opened in Georgetown in the fall but this was my first visit. I only took one picture, as inspiration for what I can put under my own new (to me) cloche. But the entire store was lovely and modern and bright.

You know you're in for an interesting show when you have to take off your shoes and wear these.
This is B and I before a dance performance at the Kennedy Center. We knew ahead of time we would have to remove our shoes, stand for 45 minutes, and there would be nudity. Wowza was it a show. (See more on that below.)

Some people play fast and loose with the word "art."
I won't get too specific out of respect of the "dancers," but we saw what was billed as a dance show. We walked in to a long, white room with various large squares on the floor. Some squares had plastic cubes, some had piles of paint, two had a disgusting amount of fake, dark hair, and most squares had a person, wearing only flesh-colored undies. Yep. For 45 minutes the crowd walked around and amongst the squares, watching the performers dance, move cubes, freeze, and eventually roll in the paint. (And the hair, which was awful.) It was different, to be sure, but at least we have a good story to tell.

I seriously love a weekend trip to pool.
As I blogged repeatedly last summer, I'm sure I'll be blogging the same this summer in terms of trips to apartment pool. I just love it so. And this year they have new chairs that can lay completely flat! Hello, easy reading on my stomach.

I seriously love a weekend trip to the pool...even if my knees look like a "weird butt."
Or so says an FB friend after I briefly posted this photo. Umm, pretty sure everyone knows those are my knees, and not my butt.

Too much foot soak + electronic foot bath = bubble madness
I made three trips to the kitchen sink with a handful of bubbles before giving up. I bought the bath on crazy sale on Sunday, thinking it would be great for use with all my assorted foot products. I'm hoping it was just user error or else this thing will be going back.

Wednesday Words

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 29 May 2013 14:19:00 +0000

"I see the creative process as a necessarily thievish undertaking. Dig beneath a beautiful piece of writing, Monsuier Boustouler, and you will find all manner of dishonor. Creating means vandalizing the lives of other people, turning them into unwilling and unwitting participants. You steal their desires, their dreams, pocket their flaws, their suffering. You take what does not belong to you. You do this knowingly."

-Khaled Hosseini, "And the Mountains Echoed"

Be nice to the jury

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Fri, 24 May 2013 01:04:00 +0000

I just finished watching the jury in the Jodi Arias trial deliver their "verdict" of no verdict for the penalty phase. I've mentioned before that I've been obsessed with this case since a month after it started, stalking HLNtv.com every day for their live blog, evidence photos, theories, and overly dramatic commentary.

This jury has been on the case since the first week of January. They deliberated once to determine guilt, deliberated again to determine if she was unduly cruel, and then deliberated yet again to determine the penalty. They've been away from their jobs for nearly 6 months and have been unable to discuss what they've been living and breathing. Now, to many, their lack of resolution makes it all a waste.

Of course, I'm watching the HLN circus of histrionics so maybe that's not the case everywhere. But I feel compelled to write anyway.

I served on a jury that couldn't reach a verdict back in October. I never discussed it because it was truly one of the worst weeks of my life. It was a relatively minor case, no one died, no one was even injured, but it taught me so much about both our justice system and human nature. I am in no way comparing my little experience to the severity of Arias' case, the media coverage, or the repercussions. Just this: Be nice to the jury.

The defendant in my case was charged with possession of a gun that wasn't registered, that he wasn't supposed to have as a violation of parole, and one other charge I can't remember. He was seen running from the cops, trying to pull something out of his pocket, and a gun was found in his path. The trial lasted about 2.5 days and we deliberated for the same.

The last time I sat on a jury in D.C., I was the alternate and didn't have to deliberate. This time, I knew the chances of being alternate were slimmer, and I was terrified the entire trial about deliberating. I'm a reasonable person with great respect for our system of government, but I didn't know if I could convict someone. I also didn't want to let a guilty person go free.

I was leaning the entire trial toward not guilty. There wasn't enough evidence. There was some variation in testimony, though minor in my opinion. I did not like the defense attorney, but I couldn't let that influence my decision. When we took the first vote in the jury room, I knew he was guilty. I had doubts, but they weren't beyond reason. Reason didn't really get much play in our jury room, however.

We had jurors who didn't understand the basics of government and the legislative process. "The police shouldn't have charged him with this." (Police don't bring charges.)

One juror "had problems with D.C. cops going back to the '70s." (Good thing we weren't asked during voir dire if we had bias toward law enforcement and a good thing 4 of them didn't testify during the tiral. Oh wait, both of those things happened!)

We would all agree to ignore the testimony of an untrustworthy witness, only to have someone bring it up to support their vote.

Those who voted guilty argued for non-guilty so we could see it from the other side; the non-guilty voters refused to even pretend.

We had jurors blatantly ignore the juror instructions:

We were told to only consider evidence presented. Jurors drew elaborate diagrams and concocted alternate theories that even the defense didn't posit.
We had strict guidelines for the charges, aka the law. "Well, I don't think possession of a gun should be a crime." (Well, guess what, it is!)
We were told not to consider sentencing in our decision, that would be left to the judge. Jurors would constantly bring up the corrupt prison system in their refusal to convict.
We had a clear definition of reasonable doubt. "I just refuse to convict without being 100% sure." (Then you shouldn't be here!)

One witness testified he was the distance from the bench to the courtroom door away from the defendant on the night in question. One juror challenged the measurement given in the courtroom, by the judge. I literally threw my hands up. Once you start doubting rulers, there's really nothing that can be done.

In the end I believe we were 8 and 4. And worst of all, in my opinion, we were divided by race.

One of the days I sat on the steps outside a downtown hotel, called my mom, and sobbed. I was stressed from missing work, angry at the incompetency and intransigence of my "peers," and disappointed in the system I always believed in. I cried because I know the next time I'm called, I will have a lot to say during voir dire about my thoughts on the criminal justice system, on the jury system, on lawyers, on human beings.

Maybe you think I'm too dramatic, maybe you're rolling your eyes, but that's ok. As realistic-bordering-on-pessimistic as I often am, I still have a fair amount of idealism on certain topics, and it hurts a bit when it gets washed away.

After the trial ended, I looked the defendant up in the court system. He was currently in prison for another crime and has been in and out of prison on a variety of crimes for almost 10 years. He was charged with the exact same set of charges 2 years ago.

Be nice to the jury. It's not an easy job.

Wednesday Words

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Thu, 23 May 2013 03:50:00 +0000

"It would just make my heart soar if someone out there saw this, and she said to herself, 'Be strong, trust yourself, love yourself, conquer your fears, just go after what you want. And act fact, because life just isn't that long.'

There's a lot of beauty in ordinary things.
Isn't that kind of the point? "

-Pam Beasley Halpert, "The Office" series finale

Shoppping With Mom

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 22 May 2013 03:28:00 +0000

I was so very excited to have my Mom up this past weekend. It's been awhile since we've had a weekend in DC together and it was great. Things haven't been too stressful lately, but they're certainly not perfect, and it's always good to have my Mama here.

The main point of trip was to hit the Luckett's Spring Market. Luckett's is a popular antique store in Leesburg that Mom has read about a lot. For their Spring Market, vendors cover the grounds, selling their vintage, modern, and re-made fares.

I have a dream of making a couch out of a clawfoot bathtub like Holly Golightly in "Breakfast at Tiffany's," and this just fueled that dream.

There were a lot of great vintage offerings, and a number of items that were already revitalized and re-purposed. Since Mom and I like the fun challenge of doing that ourselves, we weren't quite as blown away as we thought, but it was still nice.

And, of course, we each walked away with a few things. Mom bought a great hutch to put on the screen porch, and I got the following.

Old Pepsi crate, basket that used to pick up golf balls, tin watering can, and a stamp holder with stamps. If only my name were "Barbara H. Taylor," I'd have my own signature stamp.

They really did have a little bit of everything, from old hen houses to a GIANT corkscrew.

Even though it rained a bit, and we should have brought a rolling cart for our wares, it was a productive day that we hope to repeat in the future.

Wednesday Words

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 15 May 2013 13:57:00 +0000

Scene: A small group of us were leaving the office to get yogurt

Background: At a group lunch the day before, I had knocked over a water glass

Co-worker 1: Be careful, Bonnie!

Co-worker 2: Why?

Co-worker 3: It's really just best practice to always say that to Bonnie.

When You Believe More

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 15 May 2013 01:18:00 +0000

Note: After just 7 years of having this blog, I finally figured out how to reply directly to a comment. So if you leave one, I'll reply. Promise! (How you get those replies, I don't know, you'll have to figure that out.)

Several months ago I saw an ad in a metro station that said "When you believe more, you sleep less."
I couldn't remember what the ad was for, but when googling for this post, I came across this picture:

Apparently it's for Verizon. Since I have so much trouble sleeping, I began pondering this.

I think A LOT. My brain doesn't stop. I believe (see!) I've talked about this before. It's not like I'm thinking of theorems or medical cures, most of the time it's really mundane stuff. Because of the hamster-stuck-on-a-wheel brain of mine, I examine my feelings and thoughts on a variety of subjects a lot. I definitely lose sleep often because of over-thinking things. Or, maybe, I lose sleep because I believe? That's a sad thought. I think I'll take belief over sleep any day.

Now, in no particular order, a few things I believe in:

God
Feminism
Hard work
Everything happens for a reason
Not everyone is meant to be with someone else
Marriage equality
Racial equality
Gender equality
Redistribution of wealth
Democracy
Socialism in theory not practice
America isn't the best country in the world just the loudest
Ross and Rachel were on a break
Saturday Night Live will never be cancelled
Baseball should only be 5 innings
There's no way paper beats rock
Holding grudges
Friendship
Words
Imagination
Creativity
Logic
Intelligence making you beautiful
UNC basketball
Heaven will be a lot like Chapel Hill
That in the end those who are fair and just and dedicated will come out on top

Photo source

Indiana Jones and the Crazy Dream

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Mon, 13 May 2013 18:16:00 +0000

I’ve always been a very vivid dreamer. I have many dreams every night, in color, and most of the time I can interact in them. For example, if I’m having a nightmare – which I still have quite often – I can realize it’s a dream and wake myself up. I have recurring dreams, some of them for years, and dreams that feature the same fake places and people. When I take melatonin to sleep I dream real things I need to do, like paying a bill or making a list, and the next day I think I’ve done it. I even kept a dream journal in high school so I could look for consistent themes and meaning. (I actually really believe in dreams revealing latent thoughts and feelings. It’s the only new age-y thing about me.)

I say that as a precursor so you know I could blog about a crazy dream every day. I don’t, obviously, but the one I had last night is just too hilarious and crazy not to share.

I found myself in a re-creation of the third (and my favorite) Indiana Jones movie, “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.” (I haven’t seen this in several months so I’m not sure why it was in my head.)

My brother, Joey, was in the Indy role. I was the sidekick. Not sure if that meant I was the requisite female character or if I was his rotund friend, Sallah.

For the first part of the dream we were in a church with lots of hallways and people. (Including a few people from my real life.) I assume we were in a church because the last time I saw Joey was for his wedding, in a church with many hallways. This church was very bright and open though. We were told by several people that we were going to go meet a knight.

As I dreamt this I was also picturing scenes from the movie, which really made it interesting.

Joey and I began walking down a hallway, knowing we were going to have to choose the Holy Grail. As we walked I told him, “This time, when you take the holy water to Sean Connery to heal him, don’t leave me. I get lost so easily and it’s really confusing around here.”

We got to where the Holy Grail should have been, but instead there was a dish full of bracelets. Some fancy, some simple. In my head I knew that in the movie you would die if you picked the wrong one, but in this scenario there was just a mini earthquake. The more you got wrong, though, the stronger it got.

As we looked at the various bracelets, Jennifer Lopez appeared and picked a very silver and gaudy charm bracelet. I knew this was wrong and said, “Early Jews didn’t like ornamentation.” The ground shook and then J. Lo. was gone.

I then chose a simpler bracelet, and the scene kept flashing between the bracelet and the Grail from the movie. At this point the knight appeared to congratulate us for making the right choice. (He wasn’t there the whole time like in the movie.)

Then my alarm went off so I have no idea how we got holy water back to Sean Connery. Or why, in my own dream, I was the sidekick and not the star.

Fountain Friday

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Fri, 10 May 2013 15:18:00 +0000

Trevi Fountain

Rome, Italy

Legend has it that if you throw a coin into Rome's Trevi Fountain, you will return to Rome again. It has been almost 7 years since I did that, I haven't been back yet, but I'm sure I will one day.

Wednesday Words

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 08 May 2013 19:35:00 +0000

"The people don't like to be conquered, sir, and so they will not be. Free men cannot start a war, but once it is started, they can fight on in defeat. Herd men, followers of a leader, cannot do that, and so it is always the herd men who win battles and the free men who win wars. You will find that is so, sir."

-John Steinbeck, The Moon is Down

Pinterest Challenge: Tiered Organization Edition

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 08 May 2013 15:15:00 +0000

I missed the last one but I'm back and linking with Young House Love, Bower Power, Sparkle Meets Pop, and RedBirdBlue for a Pinterest Challenge.

Confession: This is how my bathroom counter looks most of the time.

Shameful, I know. But, if you'll notice, I at least have a container of some sort for just about everything. I do this in all areas of my life and is my not-so-secret as to how I rarely lose things. My most common bathroom items were in little bowls from Anthropologie.

Cute, but they take up space. They also sit by the medicine cabinet organizer (that has never been in the cabinet) and the contents of bowls and organizer would seem to jump out and mix up and just make a mess.

I've seen a number of DIY tiered organizers on blogs and Pinterest for awhile, and have casually looked for white plates. When the ladies announced this season's challenge it kicked me into gear to find some plates, find the candle holders I already had, and get to building.

Here is the pin from Brooklyn Limestone that I've had on my DIY board for 41 weeks. I did it on a bigger scale in a different way, but hers has been in my head for awhile.

The Crate and Barrel outlet near work had plates on clearance that happened to be three perfectly different sizes. They happened to be from the same line, which meant they were all the same shade of white, which soothed this OCD perfectionist's heart oh so much. (And probably soothed the minds of the employees as they wondered why this woman kept going from one side of the store to the other, comparing seemingly identical white plates, and holding them out in the air in different formations.)

I didn't start taking photos until after the spray painting, but I bought some pretty plum paint and taped the center of each plate so just the rim showed. I also painted two silver candlesticks I had but were no longer using. Then I glued everything with Gorilla Glue and let it sit for a day.

Enter cute horizontal storage that still has room for individual containers. (I still have the bowls and thought about using them, but I like the cheap acrylic containers I grabbed from The Container Store.)

It even inspired me to finally put the organizer inside the medicine cabinet.

It's basically just transplanting the mess a foot higher, but what remains is pretty.

Why I Love Rihanna

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 08 May 2013 03:40:00 +0000

Part 1: The Concert
Last week it was finally time for my January birthday gift from Shana: Rihanna! This is one of the best surprises/gifts I've ever received. I didn't even know she was coming so to have Shana tell me way back in January that we'd be seeing her, in our city, in person, was just wonderful.

We had nosebleed seats but I didn't care. (Obviously.) She sang and danced her heart out for 90 minutes, and Shana and I danced and sang (and sweated) our hearts out with her. I knew every song, almost every word, and so did everyone else.

She didn't talk between songs, which was criticized in a review I read, but that's not what I came to see. I came to see her perform. Which she did. While she had about seven wardrobe changes, the stage set was pretty simple, not too distracting, which I appreciated.

It was a Monday night and I had a client meeting the next morning, but I was just so happy and hyper I didn't fall asleep until after one. I'd do it again and again.

Part 2: The Performer
A lot of people find my love of Rihanna almost antithetical to who I am and what I stand for. I don't feel the need to defend this, but I will anyway.

A lot is said* about her as a performer, generally criticizing her clothes, song content, and dance moves. I can’t say I like everything she wears, says, or does, but I like the vast majority of it. Yet I do struggle sometimes with the fact that being a Feminist is such a huge part of who I am and how I choose to present myself, and I do not believe in women using sexuality alone to define themselves.

But, I also believe very strongly in women having the freedom and confidence to discuss and portray sexuality without judgment. I admire Rihanna for embracing her sexuality without shame.** I appreciate that she is authentic in her actions and doesn't say one thing and do another. She knows what she likes and she owns it.

Beyonce was taken to task for wearing a skimpy leather negligee at the Super Bowl, which took the focus off her talent and to her body. I both agree and disagree. Powerhouse-vocalist Adele’s body is talked about quite frequently, and she’s generally covered head to toe. But how is that different, it’s still all about the appearance? Both are talented vocalists and complicated women either way.

I think society is still very uncomfortable with a woman telling us exactly what she wants. Many are more comfortable with the Taylor Swift-brand of faux innocence that continues to exalt purity and base a woman's worth on her virginity. Which is unbelievably wrong. I’d rather be watching a performer confident in who she is, how she looks, how she performs, than both hiding behind and perpetuating arcane societal pressures. If the point needs to be hammered home while wearing a short skirt, than let's try it.

It’s a delicate balance to be able to embrace sexuality and not be defined by it. I don’t have a solid answer. It’s complex. Just like a woman. Just like most people. And I just love Rihanna for trying.

*A lot is also said about her personal life and this is all I will say: I despise Chris Brown and will never forgive him. I believe that outsiders rarely, if ever, understand the intricacies of another couple’s relationship. There is psychological proof that women often go back to their abusers. If I ever saw Rihanna, I’d hug her and tell her she could do better.
**In a way, by the way, that men in hip hop have always done, and in a much more crass manner. Tell me one rapper who has never grabbed his groin on stage and then we can criticize Rihanna for doing the same thing.

Making it my own

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Mon, 06 May 2013 15:58:00 +0000

I've been in my new office space for about six months now and finally got around to decorating it. When I bought the printer's blocks and realized I didn't have a good space for them at home, I figured I'd take it to work. I started thinking of ways to make a gallery wall work, but was too intimidated/lazy to try.

Then I found a small painted floral canvas in a gold frame at a vintage store in Old Town, and suddenly everything clicked. I went through my stash of "things to one day frame" and my stash of frames and this was the result.

And because I like when people do things like this, here's an explanation of everything.

I spend so much of my life in this little space, so I'm glad I can brighten it up and make it more me.

Things To Blog About

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 01 May 2013 17:43:00 +0000

Things I need to write about, which will be done in random order as the inspiration strikes. Keep me honest, friends.

Brother's wedding
Brother's rehearsal dinner
Wedding shower for brother's fiancee
Trip to Disney Land
Trip to Santa Barbara
New duvet
New office decorations
Rihanna concert
Friend's cape party
Bringing back Fountain Friday
Adding Feminist Friday
List of stupid things I do that make me question how I function
List of things I believe in based on an ad I saw in the metro
Finish the draft I have on camping as a child
This awesome t-shirt I'm wearing today, which was a Christmas present:

Come and fill this place

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 13:57:00 +0000

I’m not a very religious person. To be quite honest, I’m not good at religion. Yet I’ve always had a Christian faith. I believe in God and Jesus and the New Testament. I have doubts, of course, and even hesitate to call myself a Christian sometimes because I just don’t think I deserve to. But that’s not what this is about.

In my four years at UNC I was a member of the Baptist Student Union. I was not then, nor am I now, Baptist, but neither were many of the other members. We had a campus minister, but it was really a student-led group of Christians with a passion for the faith and everything that went with it. Some had been in the church since they were born, some were new to the faith, some were exploring; all were welcome.

Seniors at Spring Banquet 2006

We had people passionate about missions or evangelism or leading small groups. We had people passionate about Mario Kart or intramural sports or Carolina basketball. I’m not sure I’ll ever find such a passionate community of peers with such dedication to God and the community.

The heart of the organization was the Battle House, a historic home on the edge of UNC’s North Campus, nestled in the trees. Some members practically lived there, stopping by before, between, after, (and sometimes during) classes to study or, more likely, goof off. I didn’t spend a ton of time here outside meetings, but I have nothing but good memories of it.

The Battle House

For four years I knew where I was going to be on 5:45 on a Thursday. (The weekly worship meeting followed by dinner.) For four years I attended weekly Bible studies and got exposure to the Bible like I never had before. For four years I knew that every fall I’d be at the welcome picnic and that every spring I’d be holed up in a room working on the annual scrapbook. My senior year I was happy to serve as Communications Chair on the Leadership Council, an experience that just reiterated the passion and tolerance of my Christian peers.

Bible Study Fall 2003

There are very few college memories that are not linked to BSU in some way. Watching the 2005 National Championship game in the living room. Watching the final season of “Friends” with a small group in the TV room. Meeting my three best friends, who all came together thanks to BSU. I can’t imagine my life without them. I can’t imagine my college life without BSU.

This only grazes the surface of my time at BSU. So many memories are flooding back right now that it's nearly overwhelming.

Semi-Formal 2006

This was very hard to write because I’ve had difficulty thinking about BSU. Within about a year after we graduated, the organization changed irrevocably. Now it has a new name and is completely unrecognizable from the organization that permanently changed me, my faith, and the lives and faiths of so many others. It’s because of this change that I felt my time there had become tainted. This is wrong. It’s not tainted. It happened. It was good.

Senior ladies acting pensive

The North Carolina Baptist State Convention has announced a restructuring of their organization and an elimination of campus ministry in North Carolina as we know it. It breaks my heart to know that the students who have walked across that rocking chair filled porch, through those front doors, and into the squeaky floored foyer, have not had the same experience and will not have the same experience.

Dancing at Kranc 2004

There are so many things I want to write about this. So many things I could write about what happened to BSU after I left, and things that started before I left. I won’t, though, out of respect for friends that were involved. Not, however, out of respect for those (leaders) who call themselves Christians, proclaim a desire to be Christ-like, and then show anything but Christ-like love and compassion.

Relay for Life 2005

Each spring at BSU we would have a spring banquet. The highlights of the event were the skits the undergraduates would perform for the graduating seniors, and the skits the seniors would perform for undergraduates. Then the seniors would each get a turn to speak about their time at BSU, give advice for those left behind, etc. I don’t remember what I said, only that it was said through happy tears.

Elizabeth as me at Spring Banquet 2006

Finally, each senior is presented with a sketch of the Battle House. We all knew it was coming, had seen the three classes of seniors come before us get the same thing, but it still meant so much. My sketch got a little water damaged during one of the skits, but it’s still suitable for framing.

Door was always open

Except, before I got around to framing it, all the changes happened and looking at it left a sour taste in my mouth. Now I want to frame it and be reminded of four of the greatest years of my life. To be reminded of what a Christian community can and should look like.

Wednesday Words

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 19:54:00 +0000

"I’ll wait for you. Come back. The words were not meaningless, but they didn’t touch him now. It was clear enough -- one person waiting for another was like an arithmetical sum, and just as empty of emotion. Waiting. Simply one person doing nothing, over time, while another approached. Waiting was a heavy word.”

-Ian McEwan, Atonement

Night at the Gallery

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 02:01:00 +0000

I'm thoroughly exhausted after the brother's wonderful wedding weekend. Full recap to come...eventually. In the interim I have a few [long] posts in draft I forgot about.

Two weeks ago, I took Shana with me to the Cocoran Art Gallery for a flash fiction workshop. This was my first experience with flash fiction and first experience since college writing about art.

The workshop was led by a writer who works at the Corcoran, who previously worked at MOMA in New York, and has published works. There were fewer than 10 of us in attendance, which made for a comfortable and open setting. The workshop was based around a current exhibit, Shooting Stars: Publicity Stills from Early Hollywood and Portraits by Andy Warhol. Here is a portion of the description from the website:

Shooting Stars features promotional photographs of early Hollywood film stars alongside Polaroid portraits and black-and-white images by Andy Warhol. Made half a century apart, these two bodies of work illustrate some of the ways photographers have contributed to our understanding of celebrity and fame.

The purpose of the workshop was to view the exhibit and then write about a work in the voice of a celebrity. It could be from the voice of the celebrity in the photo, the voice of a celebrity viewing one of the photos, or really anything. We read same sample works, either written about a celebrity, in the voice of one, or dedicated to one, and then took an hour to view the works and write. Then we re-convened to read our pieces aloud.

It was so surreal and also serene to have the gallery almost to ourselves. (There was one other group touring it.) We got to sit (but not lean against the wall, as I learned) and just write, surrounded by all this art.

I didn't expect it to go so well, to be so inspired by the portraits. I shouldn't have been surprised because I do admire and appreciate art, especially portraiture, but I'm a very slow and meticulous writer and can't usually think and execute so quickly. There were actually several photos that inspired me and had me creating stories in my head.

The one that grabbed me the most was one of the early publicity stills. The subject was a Richard Barthelmess, circa 1927. I had never heard of him, but just now looked him up and he was a silent film star. This is the exhibit photo:

He reminded me so much of George Clooney that I decided to write in the voice of George Clooney viewing the portrait. And this is what I wrote:

Look at him. Look at me. Same eyebrows, same hair -- or same hair 20 years ago -- same eyes. He's a dashing guy. He's a good looking son of a bitch. Thank, god. That's all that matters here, right?

He has the right look, the right car, the right address. Maybe he even has the right pedigree, not too focused on either collar, blue or white. He did his time in the chorus line, so to speak, before jumping in to the lead role. He probably even has a shiny award or two, or at least he's been nominated. It is, of course, just an honor to be nominated.

But let's get to the good stuff. He's got the girl. He always has the girl. Or a string of girls. Women, actually. He's not Errol Flynn. No one should ever be Errol Flynn. So what if he rotates them every 2 years. Doesn't mean he's gay or asexual. It means he's bored or choosey or a dedicated bachelor. It's a thing. People magazine said so.

He doesn't have a stint in rehab, but give him time; his next film will be a flop.

But let's go back to his look. that perfectly tailored coat with its artfully popped collar.

The cigarette, so close to slipping out of his fingers, but so clearly a vital part of who he is, before the surgeon general has a say.

I could do without the pinky ring, but to each his own.

But that stare, wow. What is he looking at? Do I look like that? Could I look like that?

I want to know what he's thinking. I think I know.

He wants them to stop talking about his love life. To stop referring to his looks in the past tense. He wants to write and direct more. He wants to be asked in interviews about writing and directing instead of why he isn't married.

I think he wants a drink, a large drink to fill his brain with fuzzy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Because they aren't always there. He isn't always happy. Money, fame, awards, isn't always enough. He wants a break, a drink. He doesn't know what he wants.

Image source

Wednesday Words

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 16:09:00 +0000

"Please do not be cynical. I hate cynicism. For the record, it's my least favorite quality. It doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen. I'm telling you. Amazing things will happen. I'm telling you. It's just true."

-Conan O'Brien, Tonite Show Farewell

Things I Learned This Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 21:01:00 +0000

Sometimes you just need a Friday to yourself.
I woke up Friday morning very late, with a headache, as it poured outside. So I made the executive decision to work from home. It cleared up as the day went on and I took a long lunch to just be out and run some errands. It was perfect.

Having a craft store accessible by metro is going to change my life.
A variety store re-opened in Bethesda about a block from where one of my close friends lives. I checked it out for us on Friday and OH MY WORD it's got a huge craft section. I didn't have my full list of ongoing craft needs but I did buy fabric, bobbins, embroidery floss, and other things. I'm probably going to be here once a week.

A clean home is a happy home. Unfortunately.
I hate cleaning. Hate hate hate it. But sometimes you just have to. So I picked up a bunch of things on Friday night, made a mess again on Saturday, and then re-cleaned with broom and vacuum and swiffer and spray all over again on Sunday. It sucks but it is nice to come home to.

My first writer's conference was awesome.
On Saturday I attended my first writer's conference. It was held at a Johns Hopkins building in Dupont Circle and was created by Barrelhouse literary magazine. It was an all-day conference with a keynote speaker and three breakout sessions. I learned so much and got a lot of inspiration for my own work. It was very reasonably priced and so close to home that I couldn't not go, and I'm glad that was the case.

Working out and crafting are great ways to end a busy Saturday.
I was very tired on Saturday after a 9-5 day of conferencing, but I still made myself exercise and do things. After a brief nap, of course.

There's just no good way to spray paint indoors.
In this week's installment of Bonnie Attempts Spray Painting In Her Apartment, this is what I tried:

I saw on Pinterest where someone created a sort of spray tent using a cheap hanging garment bag. I attempted the same thing only I didn't want to pay for a bigger one so I got this smaller one. Which, as you imagine, didn't quite work since there wasn't exactly a lot of room to spray. I also didn't take into account how I would hang it. Thank goodness for (UNC) duck tape and bungee cords. On the upside, I haven't been able to spray paint in awhile but I got to use my sprayer and tarp and mask. Yay!

D.C. is confusing, maps suck, and spray paint might hurt your brain.
I was meeting Brandie for brunch and a movie on Sunday and got so turned around and kept going in the wrong direction in roundabout ways. She blamed my spray painting from the previous night. I blamed maps and D.C. and the fact that I move so much faster than the little blue dot on my map app.

All restaurants should be housed in former fire stations.
Whilst hunting for brunch options, I came across Sixth Engine, a restaurant near Chinatown that is housed in a former fire station.

It had such cool ambiance and decor, not to mention delicious mimosas and chocolate chip flapjacks. (And they were flapjacks, not pancakes, as the waitress corrected Brandie.)

Ryan Gosling is attractive even with tattoos, bad hair, and bad clothes.
But it can't make up for the depressing, heavy handed, and long winded "A Place Beyond the Pines." B and I had to see it, of course, as we do all Ryan's movies, but this was not a good one.

Don't get angry at Barnes and Noble when you can't find the book you're looking for. When it hasn't been released yet.
I have a B&N gift card that I keep forgetting about and thought on Sunday I'd use it to buy the new Audrey book written by her second son. Well, after fruitlessly searching the store for it and about to haughtily ask for it and mention that Amazon had it in stock, I realized it wasn't out yet. Oops. At least I realized it before huffing and puffing.

When you find yourself hand painting the horns on two ram figures Carolina blue, step away from the crafting.
They look adorable though and are going to make awesome bookends eventually. I have no regrets.

Detour

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 14:46:00 +0000

On Thursday morning I had a meeting downtown. On the way back to my apartment to work from home for the afternoon, I decided to take a detour and swing by the Mall to look at the cherry blossoms. I made the trek the first few years I lived here, but haven't done it the last few; the crowds are just too tortuous and I get too frustrated.

It's no secret the Mall is spread out and requires a lot of walking. Let me say this, when it's 85 degrees and you're wearing black dress pants and carrying a laptop, the distance seems to multiply. And since I really didn't have more than 30 minutes to spare, I decided to snap a few photos of the blossoms near the Hirshorn and call it a day. I mean, it's the same tree, same blossoms as those on the tidal basin, so technically I succeeded.

On the walk to the metro I saw that one of my all time favorite D.C. sights, the fountain at the National Gallery Sculpture Garden, was on. Yay! My first few summers in the city I used to attempt to satiate my need for water by heading to the fountain on the weekends. Since moving to an apartment complex with a pool, I don't go to the fountain as much. While I felt a little silly hiking up my dress pants and setting my laptop bag beside me, I still dipped my weary feet for a few minutes.

What Not To Say To Women

noreply@blogger.com (Bonnie) — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 19:24:00 +0000

This is a long post with lots of words and no pictures. It's very important to me so I hope you'll read it anyway.

There’s something important everyone should know about D.C.: Despite it being a town built by, for, and around politics, its inhabitants don’t like to talk about politics. There are exceptions to this, of course, perhaps if you are a devout employee of the Hill or K Street, but even then, for those who have their working hours consumed by partisan maneuvering, many want to think about anything else during their remaining hours.

Several weeks ago, Karey and I were on the metro going back in to the city after watching the UNC v. Villanova game at a bar in Alexandria with some friends. Three men, probably a few years younger than us, boarded and began loudly discussing taxes.

Another important thing everyone should know about D.C.: We don’t talk on the metro. If you’re talking to a friend at a respectful decibel level that’s fine, but we don’t engage strangers in conversation. There’s no need. We all spend a scary amount of our lives commuting on this thing and prefer to use this time to read, sleep, respond to email, or just sit.

As these three men loudly discussed politics on the metro, Karey and I had our own quiet conversation. Until the Cutie turned to us for our opinion. (For the purposes of this retelling, I will name them Ugly Teeth, Angry One, and Cutie because he had a cute face but also because he was petite.) He was trying to seem polite and reluctant with his “so sorry to interrupt your evening” and “if you don’t mind at all” when of course he was interrupting our evening, of course we minded, and of course he knew this.

He asked us for our thoughts on tax brackets. We both told him and the others our opinions and I added that it was kind of pointless to talk to me about this because I’m “borderline Socialist,” thinking this would deter them. But of course it didn’t.

Ugly Teeth moved closer to us and began asking us about politics in general, including who we voted for in the last election. Which you should never ask in D.C. or anywhere. I was just not in the mood and threw Karey under the bus a little when I told them what her political persuasion used to be, thinking they would engage her more than me. Which they did.

Then they had the audacity to ask us why we believe what we believe, why we vote the way we vote. Here’s the thing: I’m not in politics but I love politics and under the right circumstances I will gladly discuss and debate them with you. The right circumstances are not likely to be found at 10 on a Friday night on the D.C. metro with three strange men who clearly aren’t from here and clearly are a little drunk. (Full disclosure: I’d had two glasses of wine so while I wasn’t drunk, I was definitely at a point where my mouth acts faster than my brain.)

It becomes glaringly obvious to me early in political discussions if it’s a discussion for the purposes of edification or a discussion for the purposes of changing someone’s mind. Since I’ve always believed what I believe and always voted the way I vote, I have no interest or patience in engaging those with such divergent views out to change yours. It was clear to me that the instigators fell in this category.

As Karey began explaining how being a woman has informed her current political choices, and they questioned this, I jumped in. Gender equality and believing in, supporting, and advancing Feminism is probably my most passionate belief. So perhaps you’ll understand why this next statement, from Ugly Teeth, caused to me begin yelling and nearly leap from my seat: “Feminism hasn’t been relevant since 1993.”

In just the past month we’ve seen a slew of state legislation aiming to shutter abortion clinics. We’ve seen a high-profile rape trial that victimized the perpetrators and attacked the victim. We’ve seen various institutions try to restrict access to birth control. We’ve seen politicians believe in the existence of “legitimate rape.” We’ve seen updated statistics that women are still paid only 77 cents for every $1 a man earns. But Feminism hasn’t been relevant in 20 years? Feminism is more relevant, and needs to be even more relevant, now more than ever.

In far less eloquent words than I feel I’ve captured above, I said this to the metro instigators. It was the pay statistic that they latched on to. Ugly Teeth said that wasn’t true. Angry One stood by the door, violently shaking his head and declaring, “That’s not true. You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong.” Never providing a reason as to why I was wrong, however.

When Ugly Teeth questioned my source – Sheryl Sandburg’s new book – because “you can’t believe a book” and then sneered that I “probably got it from Wikipedia,” I was done. I yelled that they were not respecting me or listening to me and that they could leave now. We were done. Ugly Teeth backed away, not believing how quickly it got out of hand, and began conferring with Angry One. Cutie tried to apologize. Karey had her arm out ready to block me if I tried to jump at them. I just stewed and tried to shoot daggers out of my eyes.

They exited at the next metro stop, leaving us and our metro car to breathe a sigh of relief. (I was too occupied by the verbal battle to notice, but Karey said everyone in our car was listening and the women seemed particularly engaged.)

I was angry then and I’m angry now. But I’m also proud that I defended my beliefs and stood up for Feminism, even if I didn’t do it as eloquently as I wanted. (That would be the wine in me making my mouth work faster than my brain.)

Now too, of course, I really do have to laugh a little. I mean, these guys were probably just trying to hit on us (or so a few friends of mine think) and they happened upon two well-educated, politically-minded, pro-equality women who love speaking their minds. I nearly feel sorry for them.

What this incident has showed me is that these people really do exist, out in the world, on the metro. I’m not naïve, I know they’re out there, I see them on TV, I hear stories from friends, I’ve just never run in to any this serious before. And it makes me angry. How dare men try to tell women that what they believe about being a woman is wrong? How dare they exclaim that Feminism is no longer relevant, i.e., that it’s no longer necessary?

We’ve not seen a woman president. We’ve not seen more than a handful of women at a time in the House or Senate. We’ve only just seen women admitted into Augusta. We’ve only just seen women become more educated than men.

We, women, just have so much still to do. And we’re going to do it. Because you can attack our beliefs, you can ignore our arguments, you can disrespect our stances, but we aren’t going anywhere. Good luck out there, metro instigators, your kind can’t last forever.