The irony and the ecstasy

I was back at the daily grind today, daydreaming as I mindlessly unwrapped a box of crap, when I noticed a woman purposefully pushing a shopping cart toward me and trailing a teenage daughter. 

"Do you have a purity ring," she demanded.  My mind was suffering from a lack of caffeine and  for a split second I thought she was inquiring about the state of my hymen which, frankly, is none of her business.  I was worried that I look like a born-again virgin since I'm way too old and jaded to be an original virgin.  (I have it on good authority that if you haven't had sex in a year you are a born-again virgin.)

It suddenly dawned on me what she really meant.  She was looking for one of those rings like the Jonas Brothers used to wear.  (Don't ask me why I know this about them.)  The kind that means you'll refrain from any sexual pleasure until marriage.  I think it was a little late for that woman so she must have wanted it for her poor cowed-looking daughter.  I could only imagine what would have happened if there had been one for her to buy. 
Would she have shoved it on her daughter's finger thinking it would protect her like some medieval chastity belt?  The ring doesn't have quite the same coverage.













But isn't that kind of what the ubiquitous CTR ring is for Mormons?  Sort of a symbol that says "you'll never get in my pants until the wedding night (or maybe the wedding afternoon if we get the chance)"?

I think this guy has a better idea.  I can't see even the most desperate woman wanting inside those pants. 
Deseret Book should start selling these shirts instead.













I know my blog title doesn't quite fit the post but it's a damn good title and I couldn't waste it.

I don't think God likes women very well

Just before I left for Heathenville, I read this post.  It's powerful and I wish I'd written it.  I, of course, didn't remember what blog I had seen it on and searched fruitlessly for it only to finally find it when I returned home.  I've included my some of my favorite parts but read it all if you can.  I'd love to know what y'all out there in bloggerland think.  Oh, and some of Kori-Whore's Mormon Demotivators go along perfectly with it.

The God I was raised with authored the many policies and rules that governed my life growing up. Those same rules shaped me into a very specific person. I was female, I was always guilt ridden, and now I think I am finally beginning to understand why...

I used to proudly tell others of the respect and honor paid to women in my religion. Looking back, I realize a lot of it was a lot of honoring the honoring, or lip service paid to the lip service. Because when I stack it all up now, it doesn’t add up to so much respect...

What does this teach our daughters to think of themselves? Where does the blame go when one of them finds herself abused by a man?  Who do you think she is going to blame?  Herself.

After all, that’s what she has been taught all of her life. Her actions are directly responsible for the choices of the men in her life.

Oh, my hell.

I have no idea what happens after we die.  I know what I was taught to believe but I have no faith in that anymore, if I ever really did. If there is an afterlife and we are judged, and there is a hell, then I will definitely be going there in my Target clearance handbag.  BUT.  If hell is anything like this past week has been, I will be very happy there.

There will be a  coffee  pot brewing up delicious smells each morning. There will be booze in the fridge and a blender and ice so drinks can be whipped up quickly to share with friends.  There will be garish sunshine, loud laughter and red-painted nails.  Deep conversations with liked-minded people.  Joke-cracking drag queens.  And best of all, no judging, just acceptance.  DEFINITELY not what you'll find in Mormon heaven.  So if that's hell, I'm going in the right direction.

Scenes from Las Vegas

Penis balloons.

 

Fruity drinks on the strip.

Fanny and her mojito.

Drag queens with better legs and hair than I have.

 

Apt T-shirts.

Tex wins big!

What happens in Vegas...

Even the underwear lays out to tan in Vegas. 

New schmoo...

The New Beginnings program.  What the hell is it?  Someone asked me that recently and I had to stop and think.  I've been a Young Woman (long, long ago) and served in Young Womens but still had no clue what it was about.  I do remember one when I was twelve.  I wore a hideous yellow gingham maxi dress (which for some reason is the only dress my mother saved from my early life) and received my first, awkward short-person hug from my YW leader.  I still do not enjoy a hug from someone who's face hits my chest area. I remember the song we had to sing:

New beginnnnnnings
Are tay-yay-king hold of me...
Yesterday's dreams
Are but-ter-flies...

I searched the internet high and low for a video of this masterpiece but it seems to have faded into obscurity sometime in the past 30-some years.  (Good riddance to insipid rubbish.)  But I do not recall the purpose of that particular meeting.

My daughter had her New Beginnings program recently and really wanted me to come as she was performing a musical number.  Since I wasn't scheduled to work, I searched through my closet for a skirt and dug out the ol' church shoes and dusted them off.  While I love dresses, I do not enjoy church dresses so I wore my push up bra and a thong to diminish the nun-like feeling.

It's a good thing my daughter performed at the beginning of the program because the church-induced narcolepsy set in. As soon as the lights went down for a video presentation, I was completely out.  Through years of diligent practice I was able to stay upright and not drool or snore.  I roused briefly to hear the bishop say, "the purpose of the gospel is to bring our family members to Christ."  "Except the gay ones..." flitted through my brain and I was out again.

After my nice nap and the program both ended, I was swarmed by a few of the other women in attendance.  "Oh, Zena, I haven't seen you in forever!!  How's your family?!"   These were women I had never even associated with outside of church activites.  I pasted on a smile and tried not to drown in the saccharin sweetness.  As I finally got the hell out of there and was walking home I realized I still had no idea what the New Beginnings program was for.

Pedicures--cheap and legal

I treated myself to a pedicure this weekend.  A treat it is with money being so tight.  But the past couple of weeks have been hard and my poor dogs were barking and sore and I thought they could use it.  (And besides, I can't go to BGW with crusty old feet. Ick.)

I sat there in the massage chair reading trashy magazines while my feet were soaked, scrubbed, and moisturized.  My legs were exfoliated, kneaded and pounded until they were tingly and relaxed.  This went on and on until my nails were finally tipped with my favorite polish color "Naughty".   I texted a friend while I was in the midst of this luxurious orgasm describing the decadence and asked him if there was a male equivalent. He replied that there was, but it was more expensive and illegal in most states.  Heh heh.  Well, I got my happy ending. 

A brazen hussy

Many years ago when I was in my early teens, my mother and I hit the big city to go to some sort of a play put on by the church.  It was at a huge, unfamiliar convention center and we wandered a bit before entering a large auditorium filled with people in dresses and suits.  It simply had to be the right place.  As we were looking for seats I kept getting evil glares from people.  I was bewildered.  When someone actually hissed something along the lines of "brazen hussy" I finally noticed that all the women were in dresses and I was wearing--gasp!--pants.  Red pants at that.  (Hey, this was the '70s.  Fashions were hideous. Just watch the old Brady Bunch reruns.)  It seemed we were in some sort of Saved Christian revival and pants were not acceptable for women.  Apparently they were the equivalent of slutty.

Fast forward to BYU this weekend.  I was just there to attend a musical performance and I wore my favorite black cami, bra and sweater.  I felt like a stripper. Shirts layered two and three deep that covered up to the clavicles were everywhere. And there I was showing a hint of what might possibly be cleavage!  I kept my sweater wrapped well around me the entire night lest someone hiss "brazen hussy" at me.  Wearing pants, showing clavicles.  Where will the sluttiness end!? 

Oh, my freaking heck!

An absolutely hilarious article from The Onion.  What's really going on at BYU since the Brandon Davies incident.  But beware, it's at least R rated.  I spewed my coffee laughing though.

What?! Who said that?

I had a long talk with my heathen sister about listening to myself and trusting my instincts.  All those times in my life I was trying to listen to "the spirit", what was it I was really hearing?  Assuming it was really some part of ME that was talking, what was it?  When have I made good decisions and when have I not?  Were those decisions made with my brain or my heart?  Maybe my kidney or spleen put in their two cents?  Or perhaps some other body part?   Have I made ANY good decisions in my life?  Maybe I've just gone along for the ride and let other people decide for me so that 48 years later I can point the finger at them and say, "It's YOUR fault!"

You can tell this spiraled down to an unproductive rant and much angst.  My sister is very patient.  I'm pretty sure she was playing a game on her computer while I spouted.  It's no wonder she gets those enormous scores on Zuma.

But I still have no answer as to how to "listen to myself".   It seems reasonable to let the brain rule.  It's smart, right?  It looks at the pros and cons of things and makes the intelligent choice.  The heart, maybe not so much.  It can sometimes be very, very stupid and easily led.  But the heart takes feelings and people into consideration. Without heart, we'd just be robots living the letter of the law and forgetting about the spirit of it. Been there, done that.

As for some other body parts, well, they just need to shut the hell up.  I'm going to try and listen to my brain this time.

 

A stroke of genius and other shit

I've been pondering a blog post titled "The Death of Shame" but some things not even I will blog about. I will say I have been in a spiral of depression and guilt lately. I'm just not sure how to pull myself out of it.

On a brighter note, I think I've decided on a tattoo!  I saw this incredibly awesome one:

But I'm not sure I want that much of my skin colored on.  Not even for Douglas Adams.

But I had a stroke of genius this morning!  I will get a musical note on my foot.  It will be my footnote!  *crickets chirping*  Somehow that seemed like a much better idea at 3AM.

But I am looking forward to BGW!

Hanging with the other mofos.

Enjoying the amenities.

Cutting loose a little.

And hopefully this won't happen:



Church balls

My awesome baby girl plays on our ward's basketball team.  In past years they've gone to regions.  This year, however, it is no longer called "regions".  It's "stake on stake play"  or some such drivel.  It still means they were the best team in our stake and get to play against the best from other stakes now.  I've only been to a couple of her games this season because of work and they have been played at our ward chapel.  I managed to creep in and creep out without attracting too much attention.  Though after one game I noticed that my jacket was gaping and showing my tank top and bra strap.  I'm sure that fueled the gossip fires for a while.  Too bad I didn't think to bring a flask and pull it out of my black, lacy bra for a sip or two.  That would have created a bonfire for MONTHS!

Not having the excuse of work, I girded up my loins and moseyed over to the stake center where they were playing their first  "steak on steak"  game.  It didn't take long to find the cultural hall since it was the typical racetrack floor plan.  I felt as if I had walked into a cave.  Dark carpet, dark walls, no lights on in the hallways.  My skin started to itch.  (I swear I must be allergic to something in the air in those damn chapels.  Not sure if it's physical or mental.)  There were five girls on our team and three times that many on the other. They all stood and said the Young Women's theme and had a prayer that they could "feel the love of our savior and spread love and friendship".  Yeah. 

I sat in the "fan seating' and tried to watch the game as a herd of small children ran around bouncing balls and generally being loud and obnoxious.  At one point I moved my chair to avoid being bounced on.  I should have just grabbed the damn ball and sat on it.  Our team beat them soundly, even as outnumbered as we were.  The other team really wasn't that good, but they went down fighting.  And love and friendship was felt all around, as our girls nursed the scratched faces and bruises shared by the other team.  I'm not sure I can gird my loins up far enough to go to another game unless I find me a bra flask.

Rehab for the old and jaded

It's been a very busy work week.  I have a "special project" to finish by today which involves lots of piddley, fiddley stuff.  I begged one of my coworkers to please help!! and she set aside a day just for me.  So for six hours we sat across the table from each other.  I don't think we've ever had that much face time since we've known each other.  I'm pretty sure I scared the shit out of her. 

She's in her early twenties and completely awesome. She juggles two part-time jobs, goes to college, and actively writes, does radio and is involved with worthy causes.  Young, bright, inquisitive and full of life.  Love her.  She is one of my favorite people.  But just sitting next to her made me feel like a dried-up husk of jaded bitterness. 

I seem to remember being young and idealistic.  I think.  It's kind of hazy.  Life has a way of kicking you in the balls a few times and you soon learn to curl up and drop when you see something coming.  Morning no longer brings a sense of  promise, just an OH SHIT NOT ANOTHER DAY.  Then it occurred to me.  Celebrities are always going to rehab for one problem or another--sex addiction,, drugs, alcohol.  Why not a rehab for the old and jaded?  Someplace to help bring back a little freshness, sweetness and wonder to a body.  I'm just not sure what that might consist of since I've never been to any type of rehab.  Lots of unicorns, rainbows and cotton candy?  Or collagen, valium and booze?  Maybe just lots and lots of lovely sleep followed by strong coffee.  How about some more ideas?