Tender Mercy Leather Skirt Lady

I considered (seriously considered) lying to the elliptical when it asked my age today.  An invasion of privacy is what it is!  The nosy machine also asks for my weight every time I intend to begin a vigorous workout. I do lie about that.  These are very rude questions to ask a woman.

I'm a girly girl, in case you haven't noticed.  I really like that about myself.

Guess who else is a girly girl.  GUESS!

THAT'S RIGHT!!!

VICTORIA BECKHAM! (She's that English, very well-dressed, super skinny, ex-Spice girl who is married to that soccer player guy in all the man pantie ads.)

I just love her.  She's on the cover of Glamour mag this month.  I read my Glam Mag as I ellipticalled today.  I adore simultaneous reading and exercise.  Two of my favorite things in one convenient package.

Guess what Victoria says, first and foremost.  Go on!  GUESS!

THAT'S RIGHT!  (You are very good at this!)

She says, first and foremost,

"I've always been a girl's girl... I don't like women who don't like women!"

GASP! MEEEEE TOOOOOO!  I so AGREE!

I really feel that Victoria and I could be great pals in real life.  And then she might give me some of her gorgeous, expensive designer dresses that she designed all by herself.  (Too rich for my blood.)  They are TOTES FABU!  (That means totally fabulous in some languages.)  

I love this particular quote today because my sweet Bella Boo turned 12 today.  Why, she's practically a lady...

In my Mormon church 12 is the age little girls get to join the Young Women's program.  It's a pretty amazing program.  Inspired. By God.  So... needless to say... it's effective.

I'm THRILLED!  Bella is BEYOND thrilled!!

Bella has been DYING to join the ranks of Young Women for years now.  She'll now be a part of youth activities every Tuesday night.  She will learn to cook and sew and serve old people!  She will be taught to be a leader for good rather than a follower of... whatever the unsupervised kids are doing these days... 

Bella will learn about her Divine Nature and Individual Worth.  I can't WAIT until she really realizes what that means and how special she is!

I want her to be open to what her young women leaders are teaching her. I want her to look up to them and emulate their good examples of what it means to be a virtuous woman.  I want her to become BFFs with the girls in her age group. 

There is so much beauty in good friendships to be had with good women/girls!

I always feel badly (and slightly put-off) for women who say,

"I just never really get along with females.  I prefer men.  I have always just had good male friends...".

EWWWWWWW!  Men are STINKY!  And you can't share lip gloss or bum feminine products off a STINKY MAN/BOY!!! (I should add, because it's true, I like my own personal man real well and he smells quite nice, actually.)

That's all I really have to offer on that subject.

Next subject?

Vintage Leather skirt I found for the low low price of....

Can you believe it????!!!! 

Just the other day I was telling Mr. Pistol how badly I needed a pair of leather pants!

And he was so boring and practical.  He was all like..."something something... needs vs wants... blah blah blah....".

But leather is positively EVERYWHERE for the new fall season!  I was feeling so DEPRIVED!

So look what I found!!!!!

It's even a decent length for a respectable mother of four.  Which I AM! :)

It's a tender mercy.

That's all I'm saying.

A tender mercy.

I must be living right. ;) I fear being twinkled.

Life is Sacred

Pro-Life vs Pro-Choice.

This was the subject of the day in my Ethics class at the Marriott School of Management in the fall of 1997. 

One can imagine that a discussion regarding this sticky subject at Brigham Young University would not be much of a debate.

Brigham Young University is a private, religious institution.  The vast majority of her students are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  (Mormons.)

Life is a sacred gift not to be taken lightly.  Life is not to be disposed of when one deems it inconvenient.

I sat in a class of approximately 75 students.  I yawned and toyed with the buttons on my emerald green silk blouse. 

I thought about how after this class I would walk down the street to Wendy's and have a baked potato with green peas and ranch dressing on top. 

I wrote "I love Mr. Pistol" with a heart around it in my notebook next to the word "Ethics".  I was a newlywed then. 

I checked the clock every few minutes.  I sighed and drummed my fingers lightly.

The conversation was very ho-hum. 

Everyone had the same opinion to share. 

We were all Pro-Life, of course. 

The powers of procreation are of the greatest powers given to man and woman on this earth.  We are meant to guard our virtue until, within the bonds of marriage, we share sexual intimacy only with our spouse.

As sober students at BYU we all understood the same scriptural concepts.

As God's children we are commanded to multiply and replenish the earth.  We know our Heavenly Father's precious spirits will inhabit the physical temple of the body.  When we procreate we allow a body to come to be.

Parents (a man and a woman) are to nurture and care for their children in love and righteousness.

Student after student shared testimonies of faith in God's plan of Happiness.

Our professor threw us a curve ball.

"What if a woman is raped?  ...What then? ...How do you justify your anti-abortion stance then?"

I woke up.

How would my fellow classmates handle this jarring question?

I looked within myself.  Despite all my previous faith, I felt unsure of my stance.

How could I defend such a thing?

How can a young woman who has been RAPED come to terms with KEEPING that child?

Could I do it?

For a moment the classroom was silent.  We were uncomfortable.  How does one answer such a question at BYU?

A handsome young man with a missionary hair cut and a starched shirt tucked neatly into his slacks raised his hand.

"My mother was very young when she was raped," he said.  "I am the result of the rape.  I am eternally grateful to her for having the faith to let me live."

You could have heard a pin drop.

I now knew my stance without a shadow of a doubt.

You Want Tickets To My Gun Show?

I was flabby and gooey.  I had just had baby #2.  I felt awful in all my clothes.  I was certain people were pointing at me and whispering,

"Wow.  Crystal sure gained a lot of weight with this pregnancy.  And she used to be so attractive..."  

or

"Look... there goes Crystal The Cow chewing her cud... Moooo."  


(I was especially concerned about the second insult because I was lactating.  Profusely.  All the time.  Through my shirts.  I'd be minding my own business and then a baby would cry and BLAM... leak marks...   Cows lactate, ya know.  It's what they're known for.  They could be lactation consultants and make a great deal of money... )


Anywho, I became disgusted with the state of my body.  I wanted improvement.  I wanted it NOW.

I hired a trainer to help me learn how to eat right and lift weights.

Enter: Mark

Mark was a strong, black man with a great deal of enthusiasm and biceps the size of my head.  I have an enormous head.  I looked down on Mark a great deal.   But only because I was approximately a foot taller.

"Flex your tricep," said Mark.

I flexed my tricep.  Mark pinched my tricep to measure the fatty tissue which consumed it.

"Go ahead and flex your tricep," said Mark.

"I AM flexing!" I said.

"Oh," said he.  "We're going to have to work on those."


Not only was I soft but I was WEAK.  I had very little strength to speak of.  One push up had me gasping and trembling for 10 minutes.  Walking lunges almost put me in the hospital.  One time I actually FLEW OFF THE TREAD MILL and landed atop an old man who had been happily watching my backside as I attempted to run.  He was pleased to have me aboard.  I'm lying about the man and the tread mill and the hospital.

I was in bad shape, is my point.

Mark forced me to push myself beyond what I thought was possible.  Sometimes I wanted to clock his enthusiastic face with a dumbell.  Sometimes I hated his freaking GUTS!  Sometimes I said,

"This is WAY TOO HARD!  I CAN'T DO THIS!"

 But I persevered.

Mark also took control of my diet.  He forced me to keep a food journal.  He grilled me every session and looked me square in the eye to see if I had eaten clean.  I don't lie well so he always knew if I'd cheated.  I denied myself Oreos and chicken wings and Doritos and cheese cake and pizza and Flamin' Hot Cheetos... ( I LOVE those).

Suddenly the fat began to melt.  I had gobs of energy.  I was strong as an OX.  (And what woman doesn't want THAT?!  Oxen are sexy beasts of burden...) I felt all feisty and sassy again.  I let my husband within 10 feet of me.  It was a happy time for all!

Tonight as I was pondering my previous weakness a scripture came to mind.  It's a Mormon one.  From The Book of Mormon.  God is speaking to an ancient prophet.  He says,


And if men come to me I will show them their weakness.  I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then I will make weak things become strong unto them.


It's the last sentence that runs through my mind often in life.

Physical strength is important to me.

But Spiritual Strength is everything.

Strong Moral Character.  Faith.  Humility.  Gratitude.  Love of God.  Love of Mankind. Charity.

These are the things I plead for in my prayers.  I ask to be shown my weaknesses so I can constantly improve.

There are times when life gets difficult and I cry,

"THIS IS WAY TOO HARD!  I CAN'T DO THIS!"


And Heavenly Father smiles on me.  Because He knows I can do this.  And More.

He knows my potential.  He knows I am Great.  I am Divine in Nature.  A Goddess in training.



I understand that my body needs to be constantly fed a healthy diet. I (unfortunately) can't gobble chocolate chip cookies and pecan pie by the truckload or I will suffer the consequences.  Such as buttons popping off my skirts and seams splitting on my jeans.  Super sucks when that happens.

My muscles became strong all those years ago because I pushed them.  It hurt.  It sucked.  I push them daily still.  Sometimes it still sucks.  But I continue grasping for physical perfection.

Spiritual strength is the same.  I do my best to avoid yucky poo poo stuff that hurts my spirit.  I avoid movies, music, books and people that could potentially hurt my sensitive soul.

In addition, I take in spiritual food.  I read scriptures daily.  I pray constantly and meditate often. I surround myself with good people and uplifting media.   I share the things I am learning with my family.  We grow strong together.

So those are my thoughts.

In summation,

If your spiritual triceps are weak and saggy you should totally work on those.

PS My kids think my biceps look fake.  Like they belong on somebody else's body.  I resent that.  I earned these guns fair and square.  BLAM! BLAM!  You want tickets to my gun show?

Little MissSober: I don't drink anymore, I don't drink any less either.

There, on the sidewalk in front of a South Tucson grocery store, lay a drunken man.

I sneaked by him cautiously.  I had no interest in waking my inebriated friend.  He seemed so peaceful lying there like a lizard basking in the searing Arizona sun.

As I tiptoed past he opened one eye and shouted at me.

"DAME DINERO!!! Paraferk fdhjkb glaaa...".

Translation:  "GIVE ME MONEY!  Paraferk fdsjgb glaaaa..."

Then, just as suddenly, he closed his eye and played possum. 

Scared the crap outta me.

I once found it embarrassing to inform others I don't drink.  (My t-shirt says Little Miss Sober...$11 @ thrift store, which is pricey for second hand, but whatever.  It made me smile.)

It makes people uncomfortable,  my refusal to drink alcohol. 

Throughout my life, when I have been offered a drink and decline, I become immediately aware of tension.  People don't like it.

Perhaps I seem high and mighty. 

As though I am silently preaching and mocking from my meditative soapbox,   "I am Buddha on the mountain top.  Alcohol clouds the mind.  Your mind comprises of clouds and confusion.  Further more, I am better than you, as I can run very fast on my sober legs.  In addition, I am a prude and don't know how to have a good time."

I feel judged as my friends and family view me through beer goggles.  Perhaps they feel uncomfortable with my Super Sober X-ray Vision.  I can see their naked thoughts and their naked...ness.

I never enjoy watching others become inebriated while I stand by, sober as a judge.  The tipsy are so full of fun and laughter and inappropriate jokings.  They peer at me in relaxed manner through suspicious, bleary eyes.  I watch them with jealousy. 

Being drunk is FUN!  There is singing and dancing and spanking and peeing outside in the bushes.

"You're a CRAAZZZZZYYY mORMON!"  I've been told.

I have cousins in South Carolina who have actually introduced me as such.

"This is Crystal.  She's my crazy Mormon cousin.  She doesn't drink."

They then watch me carefully to see if I stick to my guns or if I will fall to temptation. 

I'm not gonna lie, drinking (until recently) has been a great temptation to me.  I've wanted to be a cool kid soooo bad!  I've wanted to RELAX, for Pete's sake.

And so it is that Crazy Mormon defines me in the eyes of others.

I have always hidden behind my religion.  When asked why I do not drink I have often said, "I'm a Mormon."

There is a nodding of heads.  And then, the dreaded tension.  Will someone PLEASE explain to me why?  Why the tension?  When we purport to live in a society of tolerance, why would my lack of alcohol consumption inspire the squirmy wormies in my friends?

I have of late found peace on the subject of alcohol consumption within myself.

I have prayed and risen to new heights of understanding. 

My body is a temple.  This phrase has oft, to me, felt rote and overdone.  Until recently.

I have a gift in my body.  It is my Spirit.  A magnificent eternal intelligence.  This body is the instrument of that great spirit.

The more I meditate, the more I come to understand my body and residing spirit cannot fully function unless purity rests within.

Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, foods high in fat and sugar, caffeinated soda are all substances that cloud the mind.  Sully the vessel.

I am striving daily to rise to higher heights of spirituality.  I want to know the mysteries of God.  I want access to the spiritual knowledge only rested on the heads of those who sacrifice the things of this world for glories and understanding beyond measure.

I still have a serious Diet Coke issue, which is pretty bad.  Diet Coke is poison to the body and soul.  It is mind altering and quite refreshing with popcorn at a Captain America movie.

I clearly can't claim to be better than a margarita sipper while I slowly pickle my liver via D.C Draft.

I alter the peace of my spirit with caffeine.  My spirit gets all hyper and and refuses to settle down when I consume too much caffeine.  it jumps on the bed and hangs from the rafters until I am forced put her in time-out.

What's that, Milk?  Have you something to say to the kind people?  You feel that bars and movie theatres should outlaw alcoholic beverages and soda pop?  You'd like for Milk to be the only beverage served?  You feel I should remind the people that milk is chock full of vitamins and minerals.  And lots of calcium? 

Milk, need I remind you that denying free will was Satan's plan.  Remember that guy?  Lucifer? Son of the Morning? 

It was HIS plan to force everyone to drink milk and lemon water all the days of their lives!  Force us to respect our temples against our wills!

Milk, you're no Beelzebub. 

(and scene)

Milk.  It does a body good... but it's totally your choice.  We aren't here to judge.

If you want to lay on the sidewalk in front of the grocery store after a nightcap during the daytime, that is YOUR business.

PS I do take comfort in the fact Buddhists don't drink either.  And Buddhists are all the rage right now.  Super cool. So... guess I'm a cool kid after all.

And also, if you insist upon sullying your vessel, don't drink and drive.  I lost someone I love that way...

Batter Whore

I have a brownie batter problem.  I'll drink it by the cup if you let me.  I'll devour it in slurpy, uncontrolled gulps, I will.  In a closet.  Alone.  I always tell myself it's the last time...

I entitled this post Batter Whore because I read a blog, Absolutely Narcissism (which is right up my alley, as you know). The blog said if you put "whore" in the title of your blog more people will read it.  I'm conducting an experiment to see if it's true. 

The Mormon Missionaries ate dinner at my house because I signed up on the Who-wants-to-feed-the Mormon-missionaries calendar.  I'm doing that kind of thing now. 

Grown-ups feed the missionaries.  I'm practicing to be one.   (A grown-up, that is.)  I might even serve a mission when I get older.  But only if they send me somewhere tropical so I can lay out in the latest Victoria's Secret bikini and sip virgin margaritas...

I made chicken and veggies and brown rice so they could eat all healthy-like.  They are away from their Mammas, ya know.

I grilled them on what they eat for breakfast.  POP TARTS and ROOT BEER!  I have a hankerin' to take those boys over my knee and give 'em What For! A good whippin', THAT'S WHAT! Now, how are they gonna preach The Word properly on sugar and fizzy water?!  Hmmm?  HOW?

I fixed up a right nice meal for those boys.  I know they work up quite an appetite getting doors slammed in their faces all day so I thought, perhaps I should include dessert...  It's the least I can do...

Then I thought,

"Brownies.  Ooooo baaatttter.  BATTER UP! Here Batter, batter, batter!  SWING!  Batter's got a rubber arm!  I shouldn't have brownies on a Wednesday night, because if I make a habit outta brownies on a random weekday I will have a random enormous bum-bum. 

But it's been far too long since I've had a fix.  Surely this once won't hurt.  I can quit anytime I want!"

I made those brownies despite the threat of a gelatinous arse chasing me unceasingly. Despite my whorish addiction. It was a sacrifice.  I assure you.

I tried to keep that batter from my lips.  I TRIED!  Why do you look at me with those accusing eyes?!  Do you think I can't SEE you?

It pains me how you JUDGE ME!  A wise man once said, Judge not the Brownie Batter Whore lest you too shall be judged about YOUR embarrassing nuances, which I will not divulge at this time because I don't want to shame you...  

The same wise man said, If you have never licked a batter spoon cast the first stone.

My son and I fought over the spoon and bowl as we always do.

Eventually I decided he had become far too greedy.  I sent him to his room to think about what he had done. 

Then... OH THEN!  We were ALONE!  Just me and that chocolate delight.  Mmmmmmm.  I indulged in the sweetest euphoria known to woman.  Sheer, unadulterated satisfaction in stainless steel bowl. 

My husband came home.  I felt guilty.  I didn't know where to turn.  I was shifty-eyed.  Nervous.  I began washing pots and pans and bowls with gusto.  Destroy the evidence!

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Fine," the word was stiff with starch and guilt.

"What did you do today?"

"WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS ACCUSING ME OF THINGS I DIDN'T DO?  DON'T YOU THINK I DESERVE A TREAT NOW AND THEN?  BROWNIE BATTER APPRECIATES ME!"

He wrapped his arms around me and licked dried batter off my cheek.

I'm his little Batter Whore.  Whore. Whore.  Whore. 

PS I didn't really send my son to his room.  I told my lippy daughter to go to her room but she is a deft negotiator.  She watched her fave show on TV instead.  Yeah.  Who's driving this ship, anyway?

Little Mormon

My son is officially a little Mormon now.

He entered the waters of baptism with a splash. 

"Oops! I tripped," he lied as he swam about in the font.

The adults gasped in disapproval.  I laughed out loud.  He's an 8 year old boy for crying out loud.  I would have been concerned had he NOT jumped in and stressed his father.

The fib about "tripping" into the font was presently washed away along with all his other sinful infractions today as he was immersed.

The white lie was washed down the drain.

Prior to the baptism I asked him,

"Do you WANT to get baptised?  It's a lot of responsibility."

"Yeah.  I want to."

"Why?  You don't HAVE to."

"Because...then I will do what Heavenly Father wants me to do."

Of course, at this age he really doesn't have much of a choice, does he?  He chose to get baptised because that is what was expected of him by his parents and grandparents and the entire Mormon Community which surrounds him.

 In addition, He badly wants to be an obedient, true, good boy.

I badly want him to grow up and be an strong, obedient, good Man.  Obedient to God.  True to his eternal Self.

It's quite a responsibility to raise a child in this world.  I need constant Faith and Hope and Prayer to stay afloat.

So many people I love are Lost.  Depressed.  Lonely. Anxious.  Addicted. Confused.  I watch them suffer. My heart bleeds.

I've been there.  I've questioned everything and everyone.  I've kicked against the pricks and returned bruised, battered and starving for light.

I don't want a life of confusion and depression/anxiety associated with The Existential Dilemma.

 I don't want The World to teach my son happiness is found in instant-gratification, addictive substances and degrading pornography.

And so the gift I instill in him is a gift of Power.  This Power is acquired through Faith, Self Control, Right Choices and a Pure Heart. 

I like Big, Powerful Men.  I want my son to be a Big, Powerful Man.  Powerful in the Eyes of God and Men.  He will rise up and be a leader in this world of confusion.  He will lead people for good and they will follow.

I have no career to call my own.  My work and my glory are my children.  I live my life as their teacher and mentor in this game of life.  I will do whatever it takes to help them become the most highly evolved versions of themselves possible.

PS  I'm freakin exhausted!  I've been cookin and cleaning and slavin' and plus I ran 10 miles yesterday!  But did I get to rest after my run? NOOOOO!  I had to scrub toilets and chop salsa and fuit platters and veggie trays.  and once upon a time, last year, I would have these events catered!  and I wouldn't have to piant my very own toes and nails and then the cleaning ladies would come....

I got everything all ready to host a post baptism lunch for friends and fam. We had a good time.  Im BEAT! And hungry for junk.  Im tempted to go downstairs and sneak a huge bowl of nachos and some cake.  But then I'll get obese. 

Will you still love me when I'm obese?

I Killed My Sister's Dog.

And it came to pass that I slayed my sister's dog. 

And thou shalt not say "oh thou fool" for fear of hell fire.

I was only 1 and 7 years old.  In the reign.

Coral went to Hawaii and left her dog in my care.  Little tiny thing.  No bigger than a pot roast.  She loved Little Dog with all her might, mind and strength.  Slept with it every night.

My brother was in my car with his friends.  I wanted to be the super cool older sis so I drove all fast and crazy and car danced and yelled out the window.  They were impressed.

Little Dog ran up to greet my car as I pulled in.  I was going far too fast.

YIP. YIPE! YIPE!  OH YIP!  said Little Dog.

He ran around in circles for a bit.  Then he just collapsed.  His tongue was sticking out when I went to assess the damage.

Hysteria ensued.  I was no longer cool and impressive in the eyes of my brother's friends.  I was a screaming, crying MURDERER.

I just remembered that story right now. It still makes me feel terrible inside my heart.

 I thought you might like to know I'm a murderer before we take this relationship any further.

Have YOU ever killed your sister's dog?  Or any dog?  How about a cat?  Rat?  Bat? Hat?  You should get a hat box.



This pic is blurry but you can see Coral has forgiven my blunder.

She made me a shirt like the one I often wore in college that belonged to my BFF, Katy.  But THAT one had the neck cut out so that it hung off my shoulder and you could see my colorful bra strap.  Real Classy.  It drove the Mormon boys MAD.

It reads:

Hold me I'm a Fermata.

I love it!!!!

When I wore the college virgin all the boys would pretend they were reading my shirt for a really really long time.

If a boy asked "What's a firmata?"  I would know he was not a Music Person and dismiss him post mortum.  (The man I married turned out to not be a Music Man but It's cool 'cause we make sexy music together anyways.)


******************************


And it came to pass that the sister of Crystal begat 2 sons and 2 daughters.

And it came to pass that I drove to visit them this weekend.  And on the third day my normal 13 year old nephew wrapped his arms around me in the kitchen and squeezed me tight and said,

"I needed a random hug from you."

AND I WASN'T EVEN WEARING MY FIRMATA SHIRT!!!!!! 

My whole insides got all warm and gooey and melty.

HE LOVES ME! HE REALLY REALLY LOVE ME! 

Then I watched Temple Grandin with them. For 2 WHOLE HOURS I translated the movie into Child Speak.

Coral said, "You are so nuturing and gentle.  You remind me of Dad."

And now I say unto you that I felt happy and Loved inside my heart all the day long.

Full of Love

Love is not Lust.  Love is not selfish. Love is not temporary.  Love is not Mormon.  Love is not Baptist.  Love is not Control.  Love is not even passionate, heated, out-of-your-mind Sexy Time. :)

I've prayed to understand Love.  I've prayed to be Filled with Love.

When I do, my mind expands.  Ask and ye shall receive.  Knock and it shall be Opened unto You.

I want the mysteries and powers of the Universe as my own.  And so I ask.  I plead.  I beg.

Suddenly I feel.

I feel so deeply I can hardly stand it.  My chest burns with the unquenchable fire of Eternity.

When I pray to be Filled With Love I feel all warm and fuzzy in my little heart.  Then my little heart becomes swollen to bursting. 

BLAM!

Everything is brighter.  Lighter.  Happier.

Try it.  With real intent.  Ask to be filled with Love. 

Love is Eternal.  It encompasses all things and all people.

Love fills me like an empty vessel and suddenly all is well.

I'm so Full of Light and Fuzzy Wuzzy Warmth there is no room in the Inn for Darkness.  No room for Sorrow.  No room for Anger or Resentment.  No room for Pain.

Love pushes those mean things out.

Suddenly I am happy for my trials.  I see what they have taught me.  I know I am better than I was.  Stronger.  The world is mine.

My warm fuzzy Love Bubble extends to everything I see and everyone that crosses my mind.  Even you.  Whoever you are.  Wherever you are.

It grows stronger as I pray for the welfare of those who cross my mind.  My parents.  My grandparents.  My siblings.  My children.  My husband.  My aunts, uncles, cousins.  The leaders of our country.  The mailman.  The trash guy.  The cashier at Wal-Mart.  You.

When I become lazy and stop praying the beauty I felt is gone.  Sorrow persists.  Anger rises up quickly. I am slow to forgive.

But I know what I felt.  I know what it takes to win this game of Life.

Love can be more than flowers, candy and a Lusty reward.   True Love can change everything.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Copy Cat!

You are being watched.  All the time.

Did you know that?

Me too.  I'm being watched. 

Then humans decide if they want to be like you or not.

It's downright unnerving.

A few weeks ago at church a GORGE 16 year old girl said, "Oooooo I LOVE your purple sparkly nail polish!"

We discussed where I got it and so on and so forth.  I thought it was just a harmless convo that would result in nothing.  No results at all.  Little did I know!

The next week she found me.  "Hey!  I got the nail polish you had on last week.  I love it!"

She proceeded to show me her fingers and toes.  Sure enough.  PURPLE SPARKLES!

At first I was flattered. 

But then I realized...

TEENAGE GIRLS FROM CHURCH ARE TRYING TO BE LIKE MEEEEEEE!!!!

Sure.  It may seem innocent RIGHT NOW... but what about when they start wearing my shade of lipstick and buying vintage dresses?  Huh?  There are only so many vintage dresses in the world to go around!  Once they're gone, they're gone!  It's not like you can make MORE, NEW vintage dresses!  Vintage dresses BY DEFINITION are OLD!!!

And what about when they all start cutting their hair and dying it black?  Huh?  How will people tell us apart?  Or WHAT IF they ALL change their names to Crystal Pistol?  What then?

It's bound to happen.

I'm inadvertently creating my own ARMY of CRYSTALS!  Heaven help us all!

And that's just the PHYSICAL me.  What about when they start BEHAVING like me?  Singing in public?  Smiling at strangers?  Cutting people off in traffic and then flipping them off when they honk?  Wearing string bikinis?  (Mormons aren't supposed to wear tummy showing bathing suits...) 

I don't really flip people off.  Except in my head.  But The Bible says if you are an Adulterer in your heart than you are a cheater-cheater-pumpkin-eater in Real Life.  So maybe its the same with flipping people off... and if THAT'S true maybe I should just DO IT AND GET IT OVER WITH!  If I'm not getting any credit for not ACTUALLY flipping people off then...

I feel ill.  It's all too much.

ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME I CAN'T WEAR STRING BIKINIS ANYMORE????  IS THAT WHAT YOU'RE SAYING?? 

Whatever shall I do? 

BEHAVE MYSELF??  (That seems extreme...)

We all know how UNSTABLE I am!  Girls should NOT emulate THIS!

How can I prevent it from happening?

Perhaps if I stop drawing attention to myself... I could sit in the corner and wear unflattering clothes and NOT be funny and disarmingly charming. 

Oh! WHO ARE WE KIDDING HERE?  It's hopeless.  OF COURSE they want to be like me!  How could they NOT?  Oh.  Woe is me.

Seriously though.  People are watching us.  Every minute.

All the world is a stage, my friend.  Like it or not.

Who is watching YOU? What kind of example are YOU setting? Hmmmmm?
**********

In real life:

Tonight I took Serena to her induction for Young Womens.  Which is where The Mormons send you when you turn 12.

We were supposed to dress sporty.  The theme was T.E.A.M.  It stands for,  "Together Everybody blah blah Somethin Somethin."  It was inspirational.

Serena and I dressed like twinners so we could be the cutest of everyone.

But then I think she secretly didn't want to dress like me.  I know because she told me.   She is the only girl in the vicinity who feels that way...

Ethnically Ambiguous Incubator

Strangers tell me my kids don't look like me.  And everywhere I go I'm accused of being some other race besides Half-Breed-Mexi-Mormon.  Sometimes I wonder whether I exist AT ALL!

Just call me NONDESCRIPT INCUBATOR, why don't ya! 

My offspring were baked and hatched looking mostly like LITTLE WHITE KIDS, of all things! 

That's why I'm SO INSECURE AND FEEL THE NEED TO POST PICTURES OF MYSELF EVERYWHERE AND also fix the rear view mirror so I can always see my reflection rather than the boring cars behind me!

People WALK ALL OVER me with their ethnic mal-assumptions!

When I went to Italy people thought I was Italian.  BELLA!  BELLA! shouted short brown men in the streets of Venice.  (Apparently it's a popular name over there...)

When my husband met me he only liked me because he thought I was Polynesian.  Not kidding.

When I went to Canada people thought I was Canadian, eh.

When I go to Mexico people call me "gringa" even though I can dance Latina booty circles around any Full Breed and eat at random roadside taco stands without getting sick.



True Story That Happened Today:

My parents paid me REAL LIVE MONEY! 

I booked it to the first nail salon I could find for an Emergency Pedicure.

The place was owned and operated by a Vietnamese family.

It went something like this.

Them:  "Are you Asian?"

Me:  "No.  I'm actually half Mexican."

Them:  "You have black hair like Asian.  You color your hair?"

Me:  "No.  My hair is black.  It grows like this."   (I didn't tell them about the Sexy Box Color. It's our little secret...)

There was a lot of Vietnamese banter as they examined my eyes, hair, teeth, gums and hooves. I neighed. 

Them:  "You maybe have Asian blood in distant ancestors...  You cut nails too short.  When you cut?  They don't grow fast.   Only slow."

They INSISTED I was Asian even AFTER I said I was Mexi!

A couple of my children and husband came into the shop to check my progress.

Them:  "Those YOUR children?"

Me:  "Yes."

Them:  "They no look like you.  They look like HIM." 

There was pointing at Mr. Pistol, more Vietnamese discussion, gesturing at me and LOUD LAUGHTER! 

It seems my Vietnamese friends found the lack of family resemblance hilarious.

I felt competely inadequate both because I my kids sprung forth from my womb looking little like me and also because I don't speak Vietnamese.

(I HATE it when people talk about me in a language I can't understand... like French, any Asian dialect or Red Neck.)



Another true story that happened today:

  I took my 3 daughters to get their hair cut.  (Maya was elated to have her hair washed in a fancy sink for the first time ever.)

My girls all have GOBS AND GOBS of AMAZING, WILD CURLY LOCKS.

Here is an example.

I obviously do NOT have gobs and gobs of amazing, curly blah blah blah hair.   

The chick cutting Bella's hair looked at me blankly and said,

"OMG!  YOUR DAUGHTERS HAVE THE MOST AMAZING HAIR!  WHERE DID THEY GET IT?"

"WELL OBVIOUSLY NOT FROM ME!" I screamed.  "Thanks for rubbing it in!"

I kicked her really hard and refused to tip even after she spent countless hours flat ironing.

So you see my dilemma, Yes?

When someone sees a beautiful black woman she can say,

"Now THAT'S a gorgeous black woman!"

When a lovely Latina lady hynopizes you with her hips you can say,

"Aye Mami!  Rosita is SMOKIN'!"

But when I enter a room I am accused of being a Greek Goddess!

(Assuming, of course, the audience in question is Greek.)

Life is so unfair.

Halloween Hypocrisy

I may be a prisoner in my own home on Halloween Night.

A line in the sand has been drawn for all the Mormons in the Land.  A test of our commitment, if you will.

Yes. Thank you.  I will.

Halloween night falls on a SUNDAY!

Sunday is The Sabbath.

We Mormons are encouraged to do uplifting things like reading Holy Books and baking bread and visiting the afflicted.  We are DIScouraged from shopping, eating out or visiting the home of strangers who dole out free candy on a Pagan holiday.

There was a row today at the Mormon Mommy playdate regarding this subject. 

"There is NO WAY my children are Trick or Treating on the Sabbath!" said one lady.

"I agree!" said another.  "What if your child CHOKES on a piece of Halloween candy acquired from Trick or Treating on Sunday?  I'd never forgive myself!"

(Ok.  So nobody actually said that second thing, but I'm pretty sure they were thinking it...)

I'm not tight with the ladies who said the above mentioned things.  (I'm starting to believe someone actually did say the second thing now.  It just feels right.)

One of my friends piped up,

"Well, I am TOTALLY taking my kid Trick or Treating.  I'll probably go to Hell but I'm pretty sure I won't make it to the Celestial Kingdom anyway...  I probably wouldn't like all those exalted people so it's cool...".

Then my other friend said,

"I agree.  I think it's silly to stay home while all the other kids in the neighborhood are knocking on your door.  I'll just wear a t-shirt that says HYPOCRITE."

I responded to that with,

"I'll stay home and judge you harshly and wear a shirt that says SADDUCEE..."

I was rasied in a home where if there was no toilet paper and it was a Sunday we used the shower curtain to avoid offending God by shopping on Sunday.

Mmmmk.  So... that's not completely true either...  We used leaves.  If it was good enough for Adam and Eve, it was good enough for us.

That's a lie too. 

Suffice it to say we never, ever went to a store or place of business or Easter Egg hunt on the Sabbath.  OUR Easter Bunny pooped out eggs on SATURDAY.

My husband has decided to be a commited Mormon and teach our children the importance on Sabbath day observance.  My children and I will have our faces smashed up against the window panes watching the others run about in goulish costumes whilst begging for delicious treats.

I have not decided whether or not I will use my power of Veto at this time.

We break the Sabbath often when I am craving a bucket of KFC after church.  But we (usually) DO NOT get dressed up in special Pagan inspired costumes to do so.

If we are gonna be Mormons, we should do it right.  Right?  IDK.

To be fair, we will be attending a Church function in which the children and I will dress up and beg for food from various cars in the church parking lot.  Truck or Treat, it's called.

To be UNfair, we will be prisoners in our own home on the most important day of the year.  Thursday.

PS  A new camera is way past due.  I'm working on it.  (I do feel I look my best when I am slightly out of focus though...)

Unlikely Mormon: Glenn Beck

The house is quiet.  2am.  It's my turn.  I get to do whatever I want without children or husbands or dogs hanging on me and yanking my pants off in the process.  There is no one to listen to.  No one wants a sandwich or a glass of milk.  No one is stranded on the toilet screaming, "SOMEBODY BRING ME SOME TOILET PAPER!"

Ahhhhhh.  Bliss.

The pic above was taken when the house wasn't quiet but this is where and how I sit when everyone is sleeping.  I wanted to give you an accurate depiction...

So what ever will I do with my time?

I could prank call my siblings.  It would be wrong but the thought makes me giggle. 


I could cook myself a breakfast midnight feast of bacon, eggs and brownies.

I could do the Lamabada in my laundry room.  Sometimes when I'm ironing I totally DO do the Lambada.  (I said do-do. )  Seriously though.  I dance in my laundry room when no one is looking... and also when people ARE looking.  It's kinda sad that I used to spin up and down actual Salsa clubs and dance competitions and now I spin with the spin cycle... Sigh... Growing up makes me sad...

Tonight I have decided to be obsessed with Glenn Beck.  I am reading his book entitled An Inconvenient Truth.

Glenn is my new Hero.  He used to be a drunk jerk and now he's a MORMON!  Yay!

He's an Unlikely Mormon.  That's why I dig him so much.  Cause even though I was raised in the church I feel like I'm a bit of a Mormon Wild Card.  (I know this 'cause I am endlessly offending the perpeteually offended.) 

Among a ga-billion other subjects,  his book frankly talks about porn and why it's so damaging.

Glenn is a good solid man who loves his wife yet he's brutally honest about sex, women and porn.  Mad respect, Glenn!

He says, "I dig chicks, especially hot ones who aren't wearing much in the way of clothing."

He admits to digging chicks yet he refrains from clicking himself "down the rabbit hole" where the basest of man's desires dwell.  Ew.

Do you SEE why I like this guy??  No?  Oh.  Well he went on to say,

"Guys are always talking tough about protecting their mothers and sisters and daughters, but who do you think the women are in IFeelNaughty.com?  They're someone's sister, daighter, and yes- even though it's a total buzz kill- often someone's mother."


I'm going to feel very disappointed if any of you click on to IFeelNaughty.com now.  I better not find out you did that or we're THROUGH!  I lost a follower last night.  I'm not afraid to lose another! 

Actually, yes I am afraid!! I'm needy and require lots of comments and attention and I don't know if I can handle losing another Psuedo Friend!  Just Kidding.  You're not psuedo friends!  You are real and true friends that I don't even know at all and that post anonymously and then I wonder what you look like and why you're posting anonymously...

I was pretty irritated about last night's incident today, btw.

Glenn also discusses unrealistic body image expecations put on us and our children by Hollywood.

"The average American model is 5'11 and 120 pounds.  Slap a size zero dress on a telephone pole, and you start to get a sense of what that's like."

I don't mind sharing that I'm 5'8 and weigh 130lbs. 

Oh no!  I just realized I'll NEVER BE A SUPER MODEL!!!  WAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!  I'm so disappointed...  I had such high hopes! 

Just kidding.  I still have high hopes.  Don't ever give up on your dreams!  Watch out, Tyra! Mormon Mama comin' through!  Beep. Beep.

Glenn Beck is hilarious, intelligent and Mormon.  Check out his conversion story vid.  I'm a fan.  The end.

SMURFS ARE MORMON!

“I’ll get you! I’ll get ALL of you! If it’s the last thing I ever DO!” said The Evil Wizard Gargamel.

Maya and I watched several episodes of The Smurfs today.

I had an epiphany.

“Maya!” I said. “Gargamel is JUST like SATAN! He just wants to GET those innocent little Smurfs and boil them up in a pot!”

“I know, Mama,” said Maya. “And The Smurfs are MORMON because they are so GOOD!”

In celebration of The Smurfs conversion to Mormonism I painted Maya’s nails blue.

I realize it’s not cool in The World of People In The World Who Think Believing in Satan is Uncool... to Believe in Satan.

However, I have not been shy about my strong faith in God and since it just MAKES SENSE that there must be opposition in all things there MUST be an Evil Guy too.

But I don’t think he is ugly and balding and snaggletoothed, like Gargamel.

I’ve had some really scary nightmares in which Beelzebub was the Star Character and he is always tall, dark and Devilishly Handsome. And he’s Charming. He’ll charm the pants right off ya!

Maya and I continued our conversation.

“If some Smurfs decide NOT to be Mormon it doesn’t make them BAD Smurfs,” I said.

“All Smurfs are GOOD, Mama,” she replied. “They don’t say any bad words! They don’t even KNOW any bad words!”

OH, SMURF! I thought.

I say A LOT of bad words. (Never in front of the children, of course, but still… does it make me a bad Smurf, I wonder?)

I enjoy The Smurfs version of historic Mormonism because they practice Reverse Polygamy.

Smurfette is a freaking GENIUS! (She’s also a little blue TEASE, but that’s really none of my business, is it?)

My favorite Smurf is Jokey Smurf. He is forever lavishing gift boxes with enormous red bows on his fellow Smurfs. When they open the box it ALWAYS explodes in their little blue faces! Jokey Smurf then shouts “SURPRISE!” and RUNS AWAY!

I ALWAYS laugh right out loud when Jokey pulls this stunt. I can’t help it!

I especially like Jokey Smurf because it PROVES that a Mormon is capable of having a really great sense of humor.

Alright, people, I’ll stop Smurfing around now and get serious.

You’re off your Smurf if you think Gargemel can’t catch you a boil you up in a pot. He is VERY resourceful and tricky.

I’m gonna keep my Smurfs crossed that you have internalized some of the wisdom I’ve offered here.

Sometimes I am astounded by my own depth. It’s pretty Smurfy, actually.

Ok. I’m done now.

Have a Smurfy day!

(I couldn’t resist writing one last Smurf… It‘s pretty addicting.)

Mormon Mom Gets Tatoo!!

“Hey slut bucket! Look what I did,” said Tara. “It hurt worse than the labor pains of all four of my kids COMBINED!”


Tara’s mom is an artist. She had one of her mother’s paintings transposed onto her back in the form of body art.

I think it’s beautiful.

So I said, “I think it’s beautiful, Ho Bag! I LOVE it!”

“I’m worried all my Mormon family members will judge me and think I’m heading down the road to destruction,” she said.

“Tara, sometimes you just get an ITCH and ya gotta scratch it!” I said. “Who CARES if they judge you. You know you’re a good person.”

“Yeah! I’m a good Mormon mommy. I go to church. I follow the rules. I just happen to like tatoos!”

“Well I think it’s AMAZING! I’m jealous. I want to get MY stupid tat covered with something spectacular too!” I said.

We discussed how angry we seem to make people just by EXISTING.

“I WISH I were all boring and not wild!” she said. “People always think I’m trying to shock them with what I do and say. I’m not trying to shock anyone! I’m SICK of people saying that! I’m just living my life here!!”

I couldn’t agree more.

“Ugh! I TOTALLY agree! It would be soooo much EASIER if I weren’t CRAZY! And I’m not even crazy! Everyone ELSE needs to step it UP! Did you know someone left a comment on my blog wondering if I’m BIPOLAR???” I laughed.

She laughed.

“DUDE! You PROBABLY ARE!”

“I know, right?! I’ve probably got ALL KINDS of issues!”

Tara and I find ourselves in an extreme minority of Mormon Mommies that like tatoos and say bad words. We are both artists in our own right and try as we might we cannot stop the flow.

We face the same discrimination. We inspire ANGER from some our Mormon peers. Anger just because we dare show our mildly disobedient mugs and laugh in the face of the inappropriate. Anger because we believe there are worse things a person can do than become a human canvas.

Why do you think people (strangers even) care so much what we do? I don’t get it.

Tara’s husband, who sat and laughed with us as he downed a vat of potato salad, just rolls his eyes at Tara’s antics. He can’t control her. She does what she pleases.

Tara is a hair GENIUS and an artist in her soul.

When I had money she used to put a grand worth of extensions in my hair every time I came to see her.  Did you HEAR ME?  That's $1000 worth of disposable hair extensions!!!! MMk?   Mmmmk.

This time I said, “Girl, just trim it. I’m STRAPPED!”

She did our hair and then we had arts and crafts time. We put lockets together with fabulous trinkets inside.

We finished playing at 2am.

“K, hooker,” she said. “See you later.”

“Aight, tramp. See ya.” I said.

We refer to each other as “tramp” and “slut” because nothing could be further from the truth.

When she calls me Hooker and asks if I made a lot of cash in Vegas I feel all warm and fuzzy and giggly and loved. She gets me.

Eminem and Lindsay Lohan Should Convert to Mormonism

The other night I was watching MTV at 4am. 

My eyes were glazed over and what should appear?  But a white Eminem and 8 tiny reindeer...

(I made up the part about reindeer because it rhymed.)

I sat up on the couch. Dropped the remote with a clatter.  I then rubbed my eyes to see what was the matter...

Something's DIFFERENT, I thought as I looked at his eyez!  Then I heard what he sang... He was SOBER, you guyz!

I've always dug slim shady white Eminnem.  Even though he hates gays and anything FEM.

The dude's got mad skillz.  I'm happy he'z not poppin' pillz.  :D

I bought his new album and jam to it tonz.  I groove to the beat and waggle my bunz.

Let's talk about Lindsay.  She's not doin well.  That girl was sentenced to 3 months in Jell...

Parent Trap and Mean Girls led her down a rough road...

Mkkkkk.... I'm bored.

I was gonna rhyme "road" with "comode" or "toad"  (as in, she kissed a toad... but I didn't want to offend Sam...).  Then I got sick of producing quality poetry.

Eminem and Lindsay should convert to Mormonism.

Can you just see it?

Mormons are admonished to treat our bodies like a temple so we don't consume alcohol, coffee, tea, illegal drugs or too much red meat and we are not supposed to pop pills we don't need or that don't belong to us.

Addiction to drugs super SUCKS!

I have several very close friends that either DO suffer from an addiction to hard drugs or are slowly clawing their way back from the tunnel of hell on Earth they created for themselves.

I'll be honest here.  Sometimes I get irritated that in my religion we can't even indulge in a glass of wine at dinner.  Or get hammered on special occasions.  Or get sloppy drunk on the front porch in full view of the nieghbors.  What's THAT about!?  Pft.

But when I take a close look at myself I see I am kinda nuts and have a highly addictive personality.  I'm wild and like to behave like a LUNATIC.  I LOVE entertaining people.  Can you imagine how much MORE entertaining I would be if I took some serious UPPERS? 

I'd spin like a top.  Then people would be like, "OMG!  You are soooo much fun!"  So then I'd like the attention and do more drugs and drink more alcohol in order to keep everyone entertained.

Lemme get a bit serious here.  Two years ago my amazing, handsome, hilarious, crazy cousin Roger Davis was killed in an alcohol related accident.

Roger always made me laugh so hard I would literally double over and and gasp for breath.  He was crazy tall and used to kick his legs high up in the air like a cheer leader.  He was crazy ALIVE.  He always told me he loved me.

His mother paid me an amazing compliment once.  She said I had taken Roger's spot in our family of over a hundred people as The Crazy One.  I could NEVER fill those enormous shoes of his. But I was super touched my Aunt Jean thinks I'm as Nuts as Rog... :)  Warms my heart.  Seriously.

Given the heartache of losing Rog, I take Lindsay Lohans's DUI related sentence pretty seriously.  It seems that her 90 days of jail time may actually be reduced to 25%.  I don't like it.

Lindsay is a STUNNING and talented girl.  Teens and adults alike watch her every move.  What kind of message does it send to the public if she gets a slap on the wrist for a crime that could potentially kill someone else or herself?

Back to Eminem.  If you read the lyrics of his new album you'll be struck by the Pain and Horror he endured in kicking his habit.  He endured Demons with their choke holds doing dances around him.  But now the lightness he feels as a result of his success is remarkable.

I don't know where I would be if I didn't have a cheat sheet in my religion.  Perhaps I'd be a puppet to the minions of substance abuse.  Perhaps I'd be the facade of a clown for the world and a slave to a relentless, unseen master.  Perhaps I'd be facing jail time.

PS  I realize that first pic of me is REALLY rough.  Ugh.  That's only because I was in the car all day and was totally still drugged from last night's Ambien... WHAT?!  I NEEEED my Ambien.   Don't worry.  I can quit anytime I want...