Jesus As Wingman

Growing up in Utah, I have always been aware of polygamy, and polygamists. In junior high there were four girls in my grade who dressed in long blue dresses every day and wore their hair in braids like Laura Ingalls. They lived in two houses next to each other, both surrounded by tall, cylindrical hedges. It was the bushes that really gave them away. Without them they could have just been neighbors that were trying to start a new "pioneer girl" trend. With them though, everyone knew these girls were sisters, and their Moms were sister wives.

This was the closest approximation I could find on Google image search.

In years since I have observed multiple court cases involving polygamy, and met people who are either directly involved, or have family involved in the lifestyle. I've had time to really think about polygamy, and reach some conclusions about it. The main thing I have decided? Polygamy is a plot to get girls thought up by ugly and/or creepy guys who otherwise wouldn't have a shot in hell.

Think about it. Have you ever seen a good looking polygamist? Warren Jeffs? Nope. Tom Green? Nope. Kody Brown? That dude looks like he stole Dorothy Hamill's haircut. Yet, all of these men have convinced multiple women to marry them, and sleep with them on a regular basis, using the ultimate pick up line: "Jesus wants you to."

That pick up line allows a guy to be weird, boring, smelly, and make no effort at all in the relationship, and the woman has to go along with it, because of the Lord Almighty. Now, yes, only a certain kind of woman will go along with it; but they are still living, breathing women, which is a lot better than most of these guys would do under any other circumstances.

No wonder fathers have passed this down to sons, and have groomed their daughters to become other men's wives. Also, no wonder men hardly ever leave the lifestyle. One gets ready to leave and the other men call him in and say "you realize this means you will never see a woman naked again." BAM! He's back in the fold. It also explains why the societies are so closed. It isn't that they fear others ridiculing. They fear someone will let the women know that nowhere in the scripture does it say Jesus runs a heavenly Match.com.

You almost have to give them props for figuring out such an elaborate scheme -- I mean, before you remember that it often involves the rape of underage girls. Oh, and that often taxpayers end up footing the bills for their massive families because many of the wives go on public assistance to make ends up. Okay, maybe "almost" is a little much.

I wonder if they use the Jesus line to convince their wives those hedges look good in the yard too...

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Little Cult

I have never been a "joiner." I wasn't a brownie or a girl scout. I wasn't a cheerleader, or a "spirit booster." I didn't pledge a sorority or dress all in red to go to football games, with big "U"s painted on my face. I didn't join the Junior League. In short, I have never been part of a group that has regular meetings, sings songs everyone knows, and engages in certain rituals with glee.

I think this is why I am so uncomfortable at Little Gym.

First of all, everyone is sooo chipper. The first time I went in I was really concerned they had been drinking and should NOT be playing with children. Then I realized that's just how they are -- all the time. Now, part of that could be that most of the teachers are 12 and therefore haven't learned about the hardships of life, but really, I think I have just stumbled upon the mecca of all former junior high pep squad members.

They tumble, and twirl, and spider crawl, and log roll like they are training to be in a Russian circus. Every activity, no matter how small, is presented and praised as if it were the most difficult high wire act ever conceived. I know it's important to praise children, but sometimes even they look at the teacher like "I just crawled through a tunnel, you don't have to alert the media."

And the songs! They love all the songs, and they sing them with glee -- and EVERYTHING is a song. Getting the balls out? Song. Putting the balls away? Song. Playing on the mats? Oh, you know there's a song for that. Saying good-bye? Practically a Vegas review.

All the songs are extremely catchy, too. You can't help but memorize them immediately, and NEVER, EVER forget them. I find myself singing about everything I'm doing for at least 12 hours after Meg's class, which can get awkward if I'm blogging, or trying to sweet talk Ryan. Oh, and I notice that if I am unconsciously singing one of the songs out in public, like in the grocery store, any parent who has EVER had a kid in Little Gym will start singing along. They can't help it. They have to.

The thing I am really worried bout though, is how Little Gym could be warping the mind of my child. She loves every minute of it. She cries when we leave. Am I trading her future as a sardonic outsider, questioning everything and yelling "dam the man" at inopportune moments just so she can learn to do a somersault? Will my desire to have my child embrace exercise early lead to her donning all pink ensembles and wanting to change her name to Kimberlee?

I guess time will tell. Until then I will carry our Little Gym water bottle with pride -- and only occasionally fill it with wine.

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I'm Not Lame, I'm Hurt

Tonight was going to be awesome! Ryan is out late, so I have the house to myself. Meg was tired early, which meant she would asleep by 8:30 at the latest. There was nothing on TV I wanted to watch. I was going to sit down, have a glass of wine, catch up on blogs, and maybe even send my own missive out into cyberspace. You know, something funny about how Christine O'Donnell is taking the fun out of this for me by making the jokes too easy.

That's what I was going to do.

Meg fell asleep at 8:15. Score. I stood up and started to move her from the living room to her bedroom. Her pacifier fell out. She startled. I quickly put it back in her mouth, knowing I could remedy the situation with just a few minutes in the rocking chair. I moved in

to her dark room, and turned around to sit down in the rocker. And I totally missed.

Out rocking chair is not padded. It is not soft. It is a wooden rocking chair, with wooden slats for the seat. Every one of those slats was now pressed into my back, and trying it's best to strip the skin away. I bit my lip and held on tight to Meg, not wanting to drop her, or disturb her. That really wasn't going to happen though, and I let out an enormous yalp of pain as I crumpled to the ground around her.

So, there we were on the floor. The room was still dark. I was crying. Meg was crying. Our dog Sally was just trying to figure out what the fuck happened. Eventually we all calmed down, I turned on the light, assessed the damage done to my back (just a scrape, a REALLY BIG scrape, but a scrape nonetheless), and we went out to the living room to start the process over again.

Meg just fell back to sleep. My back is killing me. Sorry I didn't read any of your blogs tonight, and that this is all you are getting from me.

Wait, I'll make it better -- here's a funny picture of a carrot from my friend Andrew's garden.

See, it looks like it has a penis! HA!

Yeah, I'm done. Good night.

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Jesus Loves Her, And So Do I

I have a new crush. Honestly, I have to say, I'm a bit embarrassed about how quickly, and how deeply I've fallen, but I think this could be the real thing. You know how you've heard stories about people just seeing a picture and falling in love? Yeah, I thought it was bullshit, but that's how it is for me -- and Christine O'Donnell.


Isn't she lovely? Isn't she perfect? Doesn't she just scream "no Republican Senate majority in 2011"? Sigh. I know. It's like the Republican voters of Delaware went up to heaven, and picked out an angel. An inexperienced, homophobic, rhetoric spewing, slightly racist angel. God bless them for it.

Really, I don't know what I love most about Christine (we aren't to the pet name phase yet, but I'm thinking "Nutso," just because I'm so crazy about her.) It could be the fact she won a Senate primary without really taking stand on anything, just spouting lines about "changing the system," and being a "Washington outsider." It could be that Sarah Palin called her a "Granite Grizzly" and made robo phone calls for her. It could be that she realized just how important she is and spent campaign contributions on what really mattered -- herself -- despite what any silly election laws might have said.

Want to know something really neat about Christine? She doesn't believe in lying. I know, I know, it's amazing. She thinks that God will intervene before anyone has to lie, but only if the cause is just. I guess that means God had a definite opinion about hiding Jews during the Holocaust. I'm sure Anne Frank understands though. Christine would probably point out she she got a book deal out of it, and call that a "win/win."

Christine has also made me rethink my marriage. After all, did you know it's adultery, even if it's only masturbation? That's right, ladies, everyone's husband is cheating on them -- some five or six times a day. I'm okay with it though, because it means it will be easier to get a divorce from Ryan and marry my true love Christine. Of course, I mean, once the Supreme Court makes it legal, and Christine stops thinking of homosexuality as something that can be "fixed."

After all, nothing can change this love I feel. And I think all Democrats waiting for the Republican party either to become more human, or completely implode feel the same way. Maybe we could start a support group.

xoxo

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What I Don't Know...

Sundays are my day to sleep in.

Every Sunday Ryan gets up early to watch "Sunday Morning," like the rest of the elderly. He gets Meg out her her crib, and gives her a bottle during the first part of the show. Then, as it goes on, he makes her a little snack to tide her over until I get up and we go to breakfast. He tells me that snack is normally a banana and some toast, or maybe leftovers from the night before.

That's what he tells me.

This morning, I was in bed, kind of half awake, listening to Ryan and Meg go through their morning routine. I heard them talking about the dog, and playing ticklebugs, and then I heard Ryan get up, go to the kitchen, get something out of the fridge, and walk back to the living room. Then, I heard Meg's little voice, loud and clear, say "ice cream, Daddy, ice cream."

When I awoke I figured that Meg must have been asking for ice cream, but not getting it, or that I had simply dreamed the whole thing. Still, I had to ask.

"Did you and Meg have ice cream this morning?"
Nothing. Ryan looked at Meg. She smiled.
"Why would you say that?" Ryan asked.
"Oh, I just thought I heard Meg say 'ice cream, Daddy, ice cream'."
Meg smiled bigger. Ryan turned to her.
"Are you ratting me out?" She burst into giggles. Ryan turned back to me.
"It was actually frozen yogurt, so it's healthy."

I wish I could argue with that logic. Really though, yogurt is yogurt, in all it's forms. Oh, and it means I can count the lime juice in my gin as a serving of fruit. Most importantly though, it's something my husband and our daughter share, one morning a week, while Mom sleeps in. That's what the best memories in life are made of. Who am I to stand in the way of that?

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Fourteen Months

Ladies and gentlemen, she walks.

Oh, you weren't thinking I had photographic proof of her walking, were you? Yeah, at this time it would be easier to get a picture of Bigfoot, or a properly spelled Tea Party protest sign. Every time we get out the camera to get a picture or video of Meg walking she drops down and starts crawling to grab the lens, or gives us her cutest pose. Yes, we are raising a ham.

Meg's social life has EXPLODED this month! We have joined the local baby gym, where she enjoys the tumbling and singing almost as much as she loves kissing the other babies. She mostly kisses on the nose, but there is one boy who always gets a big smacker right on the lips. Really, it's like something off a cheesy sepia toned Hallmark card. Sometimes I feel like I should stop her, but right now I am just enjoying the fact that such acts are cute, and hoping they don't continue into her junior high years.

Of course, the kissing is a better alternative to Meg's other favorite thing right now -- biting. She now has eight teeth, and is anxious to sink them into anything, or anyone, around. Feeding her now involves prying the spoon from her jaw at least twice, and playing with her is punctuated by little love nips. We are trying to discourage her, but she thinks biting is really funny, and is egged on by her cousin Luke, whom she worships. Well, I guess she'll stop after the postman complains.


Meg is also learning how to turn on the waterworks. Last week Tara brought baby Wren to meet her family, and ours. Meg seemed very fond of her, staring at her in the bassinet and calling her "bebe en." She wasn't even jealous when Ryan or I held Wren. That was not the case with my Mom holding the baby though, and every time Wren was in my Mom's arms Meg's eyes would well up with huge crocodile tears as she cried for her "gamama." Really, Sally Field would have been proud.

I understand why she was upset though, since every other day the immediate universe revolves around her. And how could it not? Did you see that first picture? She is by far the brightest star in a number of galaxies.

Oh, how we love our girl.

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The History? Channel

When did the History Channel become appointment viewing for the Sarah Palin set?

It used to be that the History Channel was about, well, history. It was the favorite of every old man in America, and my husband when he couldn't find a re-run of Nova anywhere. The sexiest or most scandalous it got was shows about medieval weapons, or volcanoes that had buried towns and were threatening to do it again. Oh, and even those shows were narrated by someone with a boring British accent in order to make them seem less exciting.

My, how times have changed.

Now the most popular show on the network is "Pawn Stars" or, as Tara calls it, "White Trash Antiques Roadshow." Basically is has people coming into a Las Vegas pawn shop to sell family treasures to get money that will likely be gambled on the strip, or spent on drugs. Yes, many of the items have some historical significance, but that doesn't change the fact that the show is about desperate people trying to get a little bit of scratch, and the owner of the pawn shop only caring if he can make a buck.

Oh, and let's not forget about the other "historical artifacts" show on the network, "American Pickers." Tara hasn't come up with a nickname for this one, but I like to think of it as "Grifting Shut Ins Who Have Really Great Stuff, But Don't Know What They Have, Because They Are Shut Ins." I think you get the gist of the show now. These two guys go around the country finding people with valuable items in small towns, tell them the items are junk, buy them for nothing, and then sell them at auction and make a fortune. Not only is it perfect for the History Channel because of antiques, but because this is basically what the Europeans did to Native Americans, so it's showing how history repeats itself. Bonus.

Then, of course, there are the new shows on the channel that would have nothing to do with history if it weren't for the channel's new slogan "History happens every day." Hey, going by that theory you can pretty much put any reality show on the air. I'm hoping soon they will get around to cracked out midget hookers, but right now they are focusing on people who drive trucks in insane conditions in Canada, and Cajuns who hunt alligators and can't count to ten on their teeth. Now, I don't want to offend anyone, but I am going to go out on a limb and guess that neither group will make any real, lasting history past their final seasons. Yes, they may make family history, or history in their industries, but I doubt Meg or her children will be reading about them in text books. Really though, the way society is going, maybe text books won't exist in 20 or 40 years. Maybe someone will be able to write their doctoral thesis on "Swamp People: Season 1" -- and then sell it to a pawn shop for a couple bucks to buy glue for huffing.

Maybe the History Channel should start showing "Idiocracy." You know, just to give people a taste of what future "history" holds. They just need to splice in the election of President Palin.

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What Would Jesus Do?

I am getting tired of all the Muslim bashing.

Islam is a religion. It is thousands of years old. It is just as old, and established as Christianity and Judaism. You know Abraham in the Bible? Yeah, he's the source of Islam too. At the heart of the faith, as with Judaism and Christianity and almost every other world religion, is the teaching to love others as you love yourself, and to love the Lord completely. That is what the vast majority of Muslims believe, and what the vast majority of them practice.

Now, are there some that don't practice that and go to extremes? Yes, and the extremes have been horrible -- and they are justified in some interpretations of the Koran. Of course, there are some interpretations of the Bible that blame the Jews for the death of Christ, and think homosexuals should be stoned to death. Really, just ask Mel Gibson.

I know, I know, the extremists are easier to handle. It's easy to hate someone that you believe hates you and wants to destroy you and all you hold dear. It's harder to simply accept someone of a different faith, and acknowledge that while other members of their faith have done horrible things, they are part of an extremely small faction -- and are in fact condemned by other members of the faith. If you don't have to think about all that it makes it easier to burn holy books, and condemn houses of worship, and even say flood victims shouldn't be helped because of their religion. While that might be fun, it also costs us our humanity, one slur at a time.

Also, I'm pretty sure Jesus prefers if we are nice to everyone, doesn't he? And I think Jehovah, and Yahweh, Krishna, and Buddha were pretty clear on that point as well. So, let's just stop the name calling and religion baiting now, okay?

Okay?

Good.

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