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Mormonism is full of jargon. There are a million acronyms that one must learn to be a full fledge member of the church. A few are;
DI - Deseret Industries
BYU - Brigham Young University (Or as some refer to it - "Bring them Young")
PPI - Personal Priesthood interview
FHE - Family Home Evening
VLC - Virgin Lip Club (never been kissed) I left this club when I was 14 with ACE.
RM - Return Missionary (a great number of girls at church schools won't date guys if they aren't a RM. These girls refer to these guys as premies - a term I hate)
RMVLC - Return Missionary VLC (I left this club with Cat) : For two years for guys and 18 months for girls that go on missions - there is no dating. Evidently, your lips become revirgincated during that time. If that is so - my lips will be virgin again come october of this year.
Lastly there is something called NCMO. This stands for "Non-Commital Makeout." In the world this would be seen as friends with benefits, but usually friends with benefits involves taking off your clothes and having passionate casual sex. "Good" Mormon kids don't remove clothes, don't feel each other up and don't have casual sex. Instead, they have NCMOs (the "s" is for "sessions"). Kissing, necking, french kissing and general lusting. No harm no foul. A common Mormon party game (for none strict Mormons) would be "7 minutes in heaven" where you pull a guys name out of a hat and pull a girls name out of a hat and stick them in a coat closet for 7 minutes. (an expanded version of spin the bottle)
I used to love having NCMO's. If nothing else - it could be referred to as intense self gratification - but it's fun. I used to do this activity once a month unless I was in a serious relationship and "serious" has its grey areas.
Since KNJ, I haven't done this. I've had offers, but I refrain.
EB is part of VLC, and is a bit proud of her status. So needless to say her and I aren't kissing or doing NCMOs. Not only that, but I've taken several girls out of VLC. I'm tiredof being someone's first kiss. I want to be someone's last.
That said - all day long today, I've been thinking about having a NCMO. I want some action. I need a Mormon slut.
It's long. It's skinny. It's often used as a sexual teaser (as in girls shoving it into their mouths). And it tastes like crap. That's right - I ate my first banana.
On Thursday I went to the produce department and talked to the head produce guy. I explained my situation (of never having eaten a banana as a kid.) and asked for his advice. He found a banana for me to eat. 17 cents. I took it home. I wasn't sure if you were supposed to wash it, like an apple, strawberry, or Orange (I've had each of those in the past BTW). So I washed the banana. Then I cracked it as the produce guy had shown me and I peeled back the outer shell.
Let's break for a moment. When I was four, brother was six. He was taking a bath when I came into use the toilet. For some reason, he said something to me and I turned to look at him, as did my body. Brother got a mouth full of yellow disgusting pee in him. He quickly spit it out and chased after me and beat me up.
I share that because 23 years later I feel his pain. I got a mush of yellow digusting banana flesh in my mouth. I almost barfed after the first bite but tried two others just to be sure. I'm sure now - Banana's are yucky. It happened to be I had some dried banana's on hand as well. I tried these and thought they were absolutely yummy. I also know from past experience that I like banana bread. So not all bananas are bad, just the one's fresh off the vine (or tree, or where ever else they come from).
This action was followed by today. I was in my store talking to my boss when I saw a presenter giving out sushi. I am feeling adventurous so I walked up and got some. (Thankfully it was some Asian kid with tattoos all over himself. If it were that 85 year old woman licking her lips at me...I don't think I would have even picked up the sushi.)
In stead of raw fish, it had crab in it. I have never had shell fish before. Evidently I'm not alergic to it (which is good because I was driving by the time I figured out that I should have waited before I ate that...It'd suck to go into shock while driving). The sushi wasn't that bad. The kid gave me some sushi, some soy sause, some green thing he said was spicy hot, and some ginger to "clease [my] pallet" I skipped the soy sause and the green thing. The sushi was a piece of crab, some rice, something else and it was all wrapped in this seaweed like shell. It tasted good. I wouldn't make a meal out of it, but it was a nice treat.
But then again, as long as it wasn't a banana, I don't care.
So I went and saw EB on Wednesday night. (She was driving down to Utah to see her folks for the 4 day weekend, which is technically three, but she cut her classes on Friday. A girl after my own heart)
She teased me again about never having a peanut butter sandwich or a banana. At which her roommates chimed in as well and told me that was really odd. I told her it was because of A LOT of childhood illnesses and feared alergies. (I had heart, lung, tumor and allergy problems my whole childhood. I'll probably post that in the comments section.)
So on Friday I went to a grocery store and bought white bread (I've been eating wheat bread but if I found I didn't like this adventure, I didn't want it to be because the bread tastes like raw sewage). I already had some PB (and jelly). Like a nervous child on Christmas eve or something else, I paced the house considering the adventure I was about to embark on. I was going to have a PB sandwich.
At about 4pm (I wore my self out pacing and had to take a nap), I pulled the PB out of the cupboard. I pulled out the bread and a plate and a knife. I had some apple juice close by if I needed to wash down the taste. I made two sandwishes. 1 was strictly PB. The other was a PBJ. Having never done this before and feeling to stupid to get directions off of google, I put PB on all four slices and Jelly on two slices. Then I decided to eat it.
It turns out the apple juice would have done no good. The white bread and peanut butter clung together and formed this incredible solid mass attacking the roof of my mouth. Apple juice would have simply moved this mass into a position to clog my throat. Once my saliva enzymes broke down the mass and I got to finish the meal...I must say it was very good. The PBJ had similar consequences. In fact they were so good, I made my self another.
1 quick point though: I think it would have gone better if I lost my peanut butter viginity to creamy peanut butter instead of chuncky. I spent half the day picking the chuncks out of my teeth. But I was so fearful creamy peanut would taste like creamy corn (homeless corn is yucky in the tummy.)
The next adventure - banana. I bought one today for 18 cents. I'm going to test the waters on Sunday.
It being February 14th, I thought I would share my sexual harrassment story from last week. CB heard this and was caught between throwing up and laughing at me histerically.
We have an 85 year old woman to do the food tasting display at my grocery store. I've noticed her before, but never really paid attention (I'm really focussed at work - which my co-workers love because they have found they can walk up behind me and scare me if they are having a boring morning.). Last week I was on my knees arranging stock in the burritos section when she comes and stands near me. She looks down at me and says "Yum...just how I like me men...on their knees." Then she licks her lips (and when I say licks her lips...I mean like a camel tounge - long and fat and all over those lips of hers, not subtle like a cute little honey in class). Then she smiles really big and walks away. I've seen her a few times since and she always looks at me with a big grin and a wink of the eye. I would turn her in except it's Idaho and no one cares. That, and, who turns in 85 year old grandmas for liking men on their knees before her. Somewhere there are men lining up to get a piece of that action, just not in the meat department. No way, no how.
I am liking (not lovin quite yet) my job at the meat department. I have no problems grinding up the beef or restocking the shelves or even handling the icky yucky fish. My least favorite job is deviding up the chicken breasts. Chicken boobs are together when they get to me. There is a small strip of fatty skin holding the two breasts together. My job is to firmly grasp each breast in my hands and pull them apart so that I have a chicken boob in each hand. Then I'm supposed to take the thick clingy fat off of the top and arrange the boobs in the tray in a pleasing manner (I always feel like a plastic surgeon when I do this. "Here are the Boobs for your viewing pleasure - telling me which one you want.") For the most part I deal with the teenage chicken boobs. Like the cheerleaders at my junior high school, the teenage chicken breasts are flat and small. It is very hard to get enough in my hand to pull apart. Usually I end up splitting one of the breasts in half so that I've got one and half chicken boob in one hand and half of another chicken boob in the other hand. I then have to try to arrange those portions in a tray and make them look atractive so that people will want to take them home (there is a another whole discussion on here about what makes for an atractive breast for eating, but today we will skip that.)
Today I got done with my grinding and restocking early so out came the chicken breasts to tray. Holy Cow! (not to mix animals) Todays Chickens were full adult chickens. Big boobs, solid fat, easy to tear. I imagine that these were the lookers. Roosters every where lined up to get a peck at these beauties. These Chicks walked around the barn yard strutting these boobs and showing them off. These ladies are the dumb chickens you see standing in cold water and wonder what they were thinking. These were big boobed chickens. I had no problems getting enough in my hands to tear. The fat was solid and came off easily. It took me a quarter of the time it took me with the junior high chickens. I didn't have to try to make them look fuller than they are, I just pulled them apart and layed them in the tray. Easy.
So todays lesson is life does not resemble work. While in life, I prefer different, at work I want my breasts as big as they can come.
AG has a cold, so she asked me to take her to the grocery store to buy cold medicine. While we're walking around the store we hear Christmas carols playing in the back ground. Why is that I ask. Did some one not get the message that is is the month of November? Did they forget that there is another holiday coming up called Thanksgiving? I would hope not figuring super markets make more money on Thanksgiving than they do on Christmas. All of that gluttony of food.
No the reason for their desending rythms of "Grandma got ran over by a reindeer" would be because there aren't really any thanksgiving songs. There are the "Monster Bash" and "Big Purple People Eater" and the ever so popular (I kid you not I heard this 7 times on Halloween night) "Ghostbusters." Then there are well over a million versions of Christmas songs, mainly because every music artist, once they hit big, think that they too must destroy all traces of happy memories we once had by picking a particular song and destroying it with a change in melody, rythm or vocal activities. My all time favorite Christmas carol would be "Carol of the Bells" yet just last Thursday I heard a version that made me even want to never here that song again.
Notice what is not in between those two musical complitations. That's right - Thanksgiving songs. There is no "Rudolph the red bearded turkey that if you'd ever saw - even you would say it glowed." No, nor is there the "O Little town of Pilgrims" or "Oh come all ye hungery." No - you will not find any one singing the peaceful song "Silent Night, all is right, because the turkey put them all to sleep." (Some of you will note that I'm leaving out "Hark the Harold Angels sing". I love that one two but for different reasons.)
So I'm taking it upon my self, as is LB (AG's roommate) and JPF, to write the Thanksgiving Carols. I know JPF is up to the task because one night him and I stayed up making up songs to the Sam Brannon Christmas Special. Stay tuned next year and hopefully we will have the joy of Thanksgiving songs ringing in our ears, instead of Christmas in November.
I am in the process of working on a musical play called "Savior of the World." In it we have one live animal: a sheep (in fact it's a female sheep - is that called a beep? A female dog is called a bitc...never mind). This cute little shep (singular sheep) got really excited today and pooed and peed all over stage. So the handler (this older woman who's hair curled like the beep's hair), comes up to me and hands me the urine soaked leash and says "Here hold this." She then walks away to go clean up the mess on stage.
Let's break for a moment. I am a city kid. The only sheep I have ever saw were at the Oakland zoo and in picture books. And in neither place were they under my control. They were either roaming free eating pellets from my hands or pretty stationary in the books.
I'm am responsible for the sound microphones that the actors wear. (For some reason actors call them selves "The talent" but I'd like to see them program a light board or EQ a sound board...but I digress.) So there I am with my microphones and this cute little beep. Some one wanders over to pet it and the shep gets excited again. Out comes some of breakfast. This the beep does right infront of my mic table. So I strengthen my grip on the leash and move her to an out of the way place.
The handler comes back and some one points out the additional poo. The frustrated handler goes to get scooper stuff (I think that's the technical term for paper towels and water). After scooping the poopie she comes to me (the handler, not the beep). I point out that the Shep had peed on the carpet. "Can you tech's do nothing??" She growls at me. I wanted to say, "We could if you brought diapers for your shep," but I held my tongue. Instead I said "Well I was going to take her out side but I wasn't sure how to get her back in."
"You can't take her outside!!! She doesn't have her coat on! Do you know nothing about animals???"
"No, I'm a city kid."
"Well then what are you doing in Idaho?? "
Before I could get a response out this woman screams in horror, "You let it eat the carpet?? How could you let it eat the carpet!!!"
I couldn't resist, "It was hungry."
At this point the lady just looked at me, yanked the leash out of my hand and took the shep out of the mic staging area. I went and washed my hands trying not to laugh at my experience with the cute little shep. But that handler - man, what a beep.
So much has happened since Friday. My first dance with a Russian girl, my first convertible ride, my first Sunday in forever not teaching, my first canoe trip, my first memorable dutch oven experience, my first temple groundbreaking ceremony, my first - Oh crap the list just goes on and on. I will update all of that later.
Today I had the grand joy of driving up to Dillon Montana. Long story short - a friend of mine's plans fell through and she needed to complete her trip from Oakland to Dillon for EFY. I picked her up in Idaho Falls and drove her to Dillon and then drove back.
On my way I saw many very beautiful things. One thing I have always been impressed with was the brother (and sister) hood of motorcycle riders. Whether you're on a Harley, a Yamaha, a Honda or a chopper (Like Jesse makes), as long as you are on two wheels, you are a member of this brotherhood. And you know you are because you all extend your left arm out as you pass another brother on a hog. The really cool brothers point with either a thumb and a finger or two fingers in a "peace" sort of way. All of this is done "on the low down" or in other words, with your hands below your waste extended out past the bike.
I own a Toyota pick up truck. It cost a little extra, but in theory will last a bit longer than most other cars and won't die like a Ford. My truck was made in my home town by guys I went to high school with. Though not a very prideful man, I do take a bit of pride in my truck. I am a Toyota owner. Proud of it. I want to show it. I want to develop a sign so that others Toyota drivers and I can show our pride. When we pass each other on the road - we could show this sign. Maybe we all give each other a thumbs up, or a show each other our ring fingers (as to the fact I've had several girls go "Ooh a Tacoma! Can you take me for a ride?"). I've thought of just flipping off people in Ford trucks, but I don't think that is the best hand sign. I will continue to ponder on this. Until then - if you see me waving a finger at you and you're in a Toyota - I consider you a brother or sister.
