That is grim

A friend forwarded me this flyer for mid-singles LDS conference in Washington state -- the idea being that if you shove enough single Mormons into the same vicinity, some of them will pair off, get married, and make Mormon babies.

Which always reminds me of this exchange from Keeping The Faith:

Anna (to Rabbi Jake): So what's your chick situation?

Father Brian: Oh, don't ask, it's not a good story.

Anna: Why?

Father Brian: Because his whole congregation is trying to set him up and it makes him very uncomfortable.

Anna: What's wrong with that?

Rabbi Jake: There's a reason pandas don't mate in captivity.

Anyway, take a good look at that flier, and please note that in addition to the fine print warning that "All divorces must be final," your choice of breakout classes include spiritual enlightenment, financial planning, or self-defense.

Self. Defense.

F is for feminism, G is for genre

F is for FEMINISM

Because feminism is the bomb, and for some reason it’s still getting a bum rap in 2013. Guess what, folks? We don’t live in a perfect world. We do live in a world that can get better, and that includes better for all the ladies. (Imagine that. We are part of the us.) (And guess what else? When life gets better for women, it usually gets better for men too! Because quality of life is not a zero-sum game.)

Something that frustrates me to no end is people who don't understand that I can support feminist issues in America ... and other issues. ("There are starving children in Africa! Women are still getting stoned in Afghanistan!) 

I know. And I believe that as a feminist who supports the legal, economic, and social equality of women, I care just as much about women in the U.S. who aren't getting paid fairly for their labor, and women in Romania who get substandard medical care.

There are a lot of causes that need help and a lot of them are interrelated. And we can care about and work for all of them! 

Think poverty and feminism. Internationally, I think it's pretty obvious the two are related. (Recommended reading: The World is Flat by Thomas Friedman: "... though climate, natural resources, and geography all play roles in why some countries are able to make the leap to industrialization and others are not, the key factor is actually a country's cultural endowments, particularly the degree to which it has internalized the values of hard work, thrift, honesty, patience, and tenacity, as well as the degree to which it is open to change, new technology, and equality for women.")

Domestically, it's also an issue. Single mothers are the demographic most likely to live in poverty. There goes that myth of the welfare queen/evil ex-wife living off child support. Turns out, that lifestyle is not terribly glamorous. Research on the feminization of poverty finds that 2/3 of those who live in poverty are women, despite only making up 1/2 the population. If you've read Freakonomics by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner, you may recall that one of the indicators of a child's academic success was the child's mother's level of education.

It's the circle of life, folks. We get better, or worse, together.

So if you're a feminist, wootie woot for you! 

And if you think you're not, maybe consider why you aren't. I suspect that if you asked yourself, "Do I support the legal, economic, and social equality of women?" the answer is probably, "Yes." (Guess what? You're a feminist.) If the follow up thought is, "But I don't like to 'label' myself, or associate myself with something that has so many negative connotations."

In which case I'd just ask you, should Christians just stop calling themselves Christians because they don't want to be associated with the Westboro Baptist Church?

G is for GENRE

I read in all genres. I have ideas in all genres. I tend to write romantic comedies, mystery, and horror – though I’ve realized that romantic comedies come most easily to me. 

As a currently unpublished, unagented writer, I can write whatever I want because no one has expectations of me. But I imagine that, if this little pipedream of mine ever works out, I may have to reign myself in, at least as far as publication goes.

What about you? Do you have particular genres you love? Any you hate? Any you pretend you know what they are, even though you sorta don't? (Cough, steampunk, cough.)

thoughts on a third winter

Have you missed me?

I suppose that's irrelevant, because I've missed me.

Prepare for some serious word vomit. I'm going to do my best to just get it all out there without deleting anything but serious misspellings and Tourettes-like swears.

This is my busy season at work, and while the last two have been somewhat doable, this one has just been an unmitigated nightmare. Last night I left work early (after only 10.5 hours!), got a chicken sandwich, fries, and milkshake from Smashburger (which is delicious, but crazy expensive), ate it all while watching an episode of Hoarders and fell promptly asleep at 8:35pm. So yeah. MARDI GRAS! I know how to party.

I made a goal of giving up Diet Coke for Lent -- I've semi-participated in Lent ever since college when a Tri Delta sis encouraged everyone to tag along for Ash Wednesday. Is it disrespectful to glom on to some other religion's tradition? Maybe. But since then, Lent and I have been like ... well, I was going to say like this, but really, we've been more like casual acquaintances who were actually pretty mad at each other in 2009 when Lent meant we ate fish tacos for every lunch and dinner while on spring break.

(I was reminiscing about that Lent with Diego the other day, and he seemed surprised that the reason for all the fish tacos was because of our friend Andrea's commitment to giving up dairy and meat for Lent. "I just thought we were on a big fish taco kick that week." NO ONE IS ON A FISH TACO KICK THAT LASTS FIVE DAYS, DIEGO.)

 Anyway. I find Lent to be good opportunity to try to reflect on the bigger things in life for forty days. "Oh, you want some of that thing you vowed to refrain from? Better pause to consider the atonement of our Lord."*

In that sense, I think it's best to give up something you truly love for Lent (like me and Diet Coke -- I plan to get a domestic partnership with Diet Coke someday), because that way, you're ALWAYS a mental hop, skip, and a jump away from the Bigger Picture.

At the same time, this probably isn't the best choice I've ever made. I mean, me? During my busy season? Without the thing I love the most? Danger Will Robinson, indeed.

This morning, as I woke up again before the buttcrack of dawn, I paused to consider all the things I could be doing with my life instead of lawyerin.

I could run a doggie daycare. I imagine they make quite good money. I would need to find a lot that's properly zoned (thanks, law school!) in the downtown area, because let's be real -- only guilty professionals utilize a doggie daycare. A big yard in the 'burbs might be the "best" location for such an establishment, but no ad exec is going to drive out to BFE to deposit precious Mister Doodlepuff at an acre-sized dog daycare before their 8:00 AM conference call. Please. It would have to be downtown so they could drop him off on the fly. But assuming I could get 15-20 people who consistently would drop off their dogs, at $10 a dog per day, that's ... pretty close to worth it, once you figure in taxes and the cost of rent of my properly zoned business establishment. But maybe I'd convince people to pay in cash so I could engage in some questionable tax practices.

I suppose the only downside to federal prison would be that they wouldn't let Spence come with me. And they probably don't have unlimited Diet Coke. Which, unlike the 40 days of Lent, I figure a few years without Diet Coke would probably lose its religious impact. Every time I wanted a Diet Coke, I'd probably think, "Should have paid my taxes." Which is also a good thought, so not a total waste.

I could work at a Starbucks. Have I ever mentioned that was my if I can't hack it in law school plan? Starbucks gives every employee who works at least 35 hours a week health insurance. (Or, at least this was the case in 2006). I was going to move to Hawaii, find a crappy apartment that probably cost about $1500 a week to rent, work at Starbucks, learn to surf, and get a really great tan (with a really pale face, since I am far more scared of wrinkles than skin cancer BECAUSE I AM SHALLOW.)

Other than doggie daycare and Starbucks, I actually don't have any other backup plans, so lawyerin better work out. And speaking of, I realized today that all my suits are pretty wrinkly, and my dress shirts as well. I am either going to have to find a husband who knows how to iron, or convince Diego to do my ironing for me and never move out of my house.

So. These are my thoughts this Ash Wednesday. Please share yours.



* And if you're a smug whatever-religion person thinking, "I don't need a petty reminder of my religious commitment as I am always thinking about the Bigger Picture" -- well, jolly good for you! I hope you get canonized soon.

I meant what I said, and I said what I meant

My friend Sandy, who is awesome, wrote a blog post for Feminist Mormon Housewives today. You can read it here. (Her regular blog here.)

Now, if you've read that, you may want to just skip what I have to say. Because it won't make you feel any better or worse about your position, if any, whatever it is.

Prepare for a long-winded, indecisive rant, friendos.

When some friends of mine online suggested that Mormon Feminists start doing some stuff to remind people that, much like those Whos of Whoville, we are here, I was all about it. As much as certain things about the LDS Church bug me sometimes, I suspect that if more people knew about them, more people would say, "Hey, that bugs me too! Let's fix that." PROGRESS FOR EVERYONE!

Then one of them suggested, "Hey, why don't we all wear pants to church one Sunday?" and my enthusiasm plummeted.

I know, I know. Why wouldn't I be supportive?

Do I think women should be "allowed" to wear pants to church? Of course. I'm not the fashion police -- and what's more, the LDS Church has said since the 1970s that there's no official church dress code for the ladies. Go forth and wear pants, friends!

Do I think that, given the standard of "Sunday best," I own dress pants that are nicer than some of the dresses and skirts I own? Absolutely. My job can sometimes require a fairly formal dress code, and I wear suits and dresses pretty interchangeably. I don't think that one outfit is particularly better than another just because the structures are different. I also think anyone who insists that an informal dress (or jersey maxi skirt, boots, and a Northface pullover, you know who you are ...) is more appropriate for church than a pair of nice wool slacks on the basis of "Well, it's a dress!" is just kidding themselves.

Part of it is just that I don't want to wear pants to church. Period. It's not social conditioning or peer pressure (at age 28, I'm sort of past that sort of thing). I just ... don't want to. The tomboy Ru of my childhood would probably be like, "YES! Pants to church!"

But adult Ru is like, "Well, I would be warmer ... but I just like a good reason to wear a dress. Sue me." I don't feel more or less reverent, more or less respectful, in a dress. I just like dresses. And by the end of a regular work week, a lot of times I am just kind of sick of slacks. And that seems like a good enough reason to wear a dress.

But that isn't the reason I feel squeamish. The real reason was simple: a big part of me just knew, "This is going to get misconstrued. By a lot of people."

Because I don't care about pants. And I can't stand that people still confuse concepts of "sameness" and "equality." Every enemy of feminism ever has attempted to equate the demand for equal rights to  the imaginary demand for breastfeeding men and women who can pee standing up. (STRAWMAN ARGUMENT ALERT.)

I don't want to be a man. I like being a woman. I just wanted to get treated as well as a man because there is no justifiable reason why I shouldn't be.

I want women to have equal say about church finances. I want the Young Women's program to be as well-funded as the Young Men's. I want non-priesthood church positions to be filled equally by men and women. I want to see a woman pray in General Conference. And heck, why not have a woman speaker at Priesthood session of conference? Men speak in the Relief Society general, and some of the men in the audience could probably use the reminder that sometimes women have authority, too. 

Newsflash: I don't even want the priesthood. I mean, it's cool if you do, but the things I want (women who have children at home to be eligible to be seminary teachers -- maybe we'd have a few less creepster seminary teachers out there, amiright?!) have more to do with the institutional structure of the church than anything.

I want so many things to be better about the LDS Church. Things that I think most people would agree with, if they weren't so convinced that feminists want to kidnap pregnant women off the street and force them to have abortions.

And people are going to see the word "pants" and think all I want are different genitals. Because let's be honest -- our society is not big on the "critical thought" thing.

So even though I supported the basic idea presented, I thought I wasn't going to participate. I didn't want to take away from the event, so I was just going to keep silent, but I didn't want to offer my support, either.

But then.

The "decline" responses to the facebook invitation started pouring in. The anti-pants crowd is, in a word, insane. I knew there would be some misunderstanding of the motives of the group, but seriously. Heaven forbid you ask an LDS woman to wear nice slacks and pearls instead of a frumpster denim jumper this Sunday, because she will throw down. Sweet spirits? Ha.

And then on the "accept" side, I saw so many things that I thought couldn't possibly be happening. One gentleman shared that an usher in a ward in Arizona actually TURNED HIS GRANDMOTHER AWAY because she wore a pantsuit after hip surgery on Easter Sunday.

(Let's all just pause for a moment to consider that. Grandmother ... hip surgery ... Easter. NO CHURCH FOR YOU, PANTSY.)

So what am I going to wear to church on Sunday? Beats me, honestly. On one hand, I want to support a group and a cause I care a lot about. On the other, I think this is not the best way to raise awareness of our concerns. Back to the other hand, I can't quite believe the level of cray that surrounding this whole thing, and the obstinate lawyer in me wants to jump to the side of the down-trodden.

AND I DON'T EVEN WANT TO WEAR PANTS TO CHURCH.

But I love Horton Hears A Who!

In short, I am muddled, friends. So any thoughts you might able to offer, I would really appreciate.

Keeping in mind, of course, that in the end I might choose to declare this Sunday a mental health day and just stay home.

Yay feminism!

And yay (maybe) pants!

Couldn't even try to say it better.

"Mormons need be realistic about garments and the world. Most people who know us, know about us or think they know us are well aware of our two-T-shirt thing. Garments are not a secret anymore. They never really were.

Today, you can look them up on the Internet, see them peeking out from under regular clothing, find them left behind in Laundromats and even spot them hanging on clotheslines.

Here’s another secret — they aren’t sacred, either. Not to 99 percent of the rest of the world, they aren’t. Furthermore, you can’t make them sacred by pitching a snit whenever people don’t treat them the way you think they should."

- Robert Kirby
Full article found HERE.

Stolen from The Exponent

“And even though I swear sometimes God rolls his eyes at me when I pray for all sorts of silly things, I know he listens and blesses me just the same.  So too I am trying to value the things that matter to the people around me.”

Full post here.

Two posts in a week? Crazy!

Yes friends, it's true.

Busy season at my work is nearly over, which means a return to our regularly scheduled program.

But since it's not quite over, this isn't much of a post. Really more of a list of things I've learned during my semi-break:

1. Blogging is a good outlet for me. If I had blogged about Rush Limbaugh, I probably wouldn't have had to rant about him to all my friends for the last four days. 

2. Despite my Mormon roots, there is just something about public prayer that makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Not the prayer itself, mind you, just the act of standing around and listening to it. I feel like Will Farrell in Talladega Nights -- I don't know what I should be doing with my hands.

And between us chickens, I've heard a lot of public prayer in the last month and a half.

3. I plan to do a little more with 28 than I did with 27.  When I turned 26, I was depressed. When I turned 27, I was more depressed. In fact, I spent probably the first six months of 27 wishing I was still 26 ... and now that I'm 28, 27 seems mighty young.

In an effort to not be right back where I'm sitting a year from now, I'm going to try to enjoy 28 from the get-go.

4. Internet dating. Still awful.

What's new with you friends?

Well, shucks

Oscar Sparrow nominated me for a Kreativ Blogger Award, ain't that sweet? As part of that award, I have to tell you 10 things you probably don't know about me.  I'm also supposed to pick 10 people to give it to, but when I get overwhelmed with work, I get overwhelmed with decisions, which means the thought of picking 10 of the many fantastic blogs I read, follow, and/or stalk to highlight gives me a headache.  AWARDS FOR EVERYONE!

1. I want to visit India. The trick is apparently finding a travel buddy. Everyone wants to go to Paris, no one wants to go to Mumbai.

2. I really hate texting. A subset of that hatred is the "hey" text -- when someone tries to initiate a conversation with the word "hey" and sometimes nothing else.  But even more than that?  I hate the "hey [adjective or sometimes noun]" text.

In the last two weeks, a guy has tried to initiate conversation with me by texting the following:

"Hey cutie!"

"Hey hot stuff!"

"Hey cutie"

"Hey cutie"

"Hey gorgeous!"

And last night when I logged on to Facebook, an IM that said, "Hey sexy."

Just ... gross.

Fortunately for this kid, I do believe there's a lid for every pot out there, so all he has to do is find a girl who is easily flattered and enjoys really tiny conversations.

3. Despite sharing a few horror date stories, I mostly prefer to keep to myself about my various romantic misadventures. While the goal is to find a guy who fits into my group of friends and family, I don't especially want to have to talk to them about him.

4. I am terrible at setting people up, but the one exception is after someone moves to a different state.  Then suddenly I realize that he/she is perfect for her/him, and why can't I ever figure that out while people live in the same area code?

5. I hate mushrooms and barely tolerate tomatoes. My parents predicted my entire life that I would grow out of these hatreds -- nope. But I did grow out of my hatred of hummus, so that's something.

6. I am afflicted with what my family lovingly calls "Lassie Complex," ie SOMEONE-FELL-DOWN-A-WELL???-CAN-I-HELP?-CAN-I-HELP? complex.

So you know, when I say I went to law school because I wanted to "help people," it's true.  I pathologically want to help people.

I'm considering seeing a therapist about it.

7. Despite being Mormon, it really bugs me when Mormons-in-their-Mormon-capacity show up at my door, unannounced. This has nothing to do with being Mormon per se, and everything to do with having a Mormon purpose.

Random Mormon coming for a friendly (previously announced) visit?  Fine.

Mormon coming over (usually unannounced) to get all Mormon up in my grill? Less than appreciated.

And for the record, I do apply the same standard to myself. So when I am assigned to bring someone (usually a stranger) cookies for church because their hair got over-processed at the salon, I drop those cookies with a nice note on the porch and run like a bandit.

8. I would totally go on The Bachelor for the vacations.  And if the producers asked me to cry my eyes out in the reject limo in exchange for a free trip to Costa Rica, I would whip out my Vicks Vapo Rub  and blubber like a champ.

I have no shame when it comes to vacations.

9. I want a pocket pig.  In fact, I would pay an obscene amount of money for a pocket pig, and am considering fencing my backyard for the sole purpose of buying one this summer.

POCKET PIG!

10. I hate lists so bad that this post was delayed three days because I couldn't think of a Number 10.

While I was in San Fran, Spence was getting Biblical

Text from Charlie and Alpha to me while they were puppy sitting -- I hope you find it at least half as funny as I did:

How think ye? If a Charlie have an hundred Spencers, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray?


And if it so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth more of that Spencer, than of the ninety and nine which went astray.

A Conversation: Blasphemy Edition

I went to breakfast awhile back with Diego and Echo in honor of getting the day off work (hurray!).  For some reason, the crucifixion came up.

Echo: And, you know, the crucifixion was obviously the worst part of His life.

Diego: Really? You think so? 

Ru: What if He had a really bad breakup that's not mentioned in The Bible?

Diego: What if Mary Magdalene gave Him the old, "You're sooo nice. Too nice, really" and hooked up with Judas?

Echo: You guys suck.

Something I do not believe

God will never give us more than we can handle.

First of all, for the religious folks out there, this sentiment isn't found in any religious text I've ever read. It's far more likely to show up on bumper stickers. In general, I am wary of things people throw around like scripture that I've never actually read in scripture.  ("I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it" ring a bell for anyone?)

In fact, this sentiment is actually just a misstatement of a scripture found in Corinthians (God will not allow you to be tempted beyond your ability, and let's not get into some big theological discussion about how those are two distinct ideas.)

Second, it's just clearly B.S.

Now, I don't mean to be a mean little raincloud of negativity -- if this is your personal mantra, more power to you.

But it is not true for everyone.  It's not even close to true for most people.

Logically, you know it isn't true.  People are broken by their life experiences all the time.  Is the human mind resilient enough to bounce back from most things?  I honestly don't know.  I'd like to think so, but then again, I've never had anything truly bad (on the Grand Scale of Awful) ever happen to me.  I don't want to be a total downer, but when you think of all the bad things that can and do happen to people (starvation, exploitation, degenerative disease, torture, unjust imprisonment, etc.) before you even get to death, bumper sticker theology just can't cut it. 

Some people start out life with no chance. This is not a matter of "fairness," it's a matter of logic. It rains on the just and unjust alike. So while half of me believes in a loving God who knows me personally and cares about my struggles, the other half believes in that old clockmaker God who put his chips down on the table and let it ride. (Ah yes, the patented Ru mixed metaphor.)

Personally, I don't find those two visions of God particularly at odds with each other -- I just think of God as the anti-helicopter parent.  He cares, but there will be no swooping to my rescue.

So is there a happier note coming already? Why yes, actually, there is.

In 1861, a woman named Julia Ward Howe woke up in the middle of the night and wrote down the lyrics to a song. One of those lines read, "As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free."

The song was inspired by John Brown, an anti-slavery activist. In 1859, Brown had attempted to capture weapons from a federal armory and lead a slave rebellion in the South. He was caught, tried for treason against the state of Virginia, and executed for his crimes. Julia Ward Howe and her husband were abolitionists who had supported Brown's work.

Since the song was originally published, the words to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" have been changed to, "As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free."

With all due respect to Julia Ward Howe, I like the second version better. That's something I can believe.

thoughts from around the internet this week

I'm a lawyer.  (Have I mentioned that?  Oh yeah, like 50 times.  Got it.)

As a lawyer, I'm a big fan of definitions.

Words have specific meanings.  Statutes have specific meanings.  Legal phrases -- clear and convincing, reasonable person, articulable suspicion -- have specific meanings.

We can argue about whether these words, statutes, and phrases apply to certain situations.  We can even argue about how far their meanings can be stretched. 

But we can't really say that something means something that it doesn't.

The English language is both soft and hard.  You can wallow in the squishy stuff to your heart's content, but eventually there will be a corner.  And once you've turned the corner of definition, that's it.

Over at The Exponent this week, a bunch of craaaaazy Mormon feminists (male and female) took on the subject of patriarchy.

Patriarchy has a meaning. The word "preside" has a meaning. "Dominion" has a meaning.

You can't say these words mean something they don't mean.  You can't ignore half a definition in favor of the half you like.

A few posters took to the comment board to argue that in their mind, the word "preside" means only to "take the lead," without any connotation of power attached, and therefore patriarchy is A-OK.  You can "preside" and be equal with someone at the same time, no problem!  Silly feminists, don't you understand that?

Look.

It's great if you want to think of it that way, but that is not what the word preside means.  And if you only want to mean "take the lead," you should probably just say that. Don't put up a straw man argument where you redefine the word "preside." The sticky reality is that claiming two people are equal but one "presides" does not make any sense. It just doesn't.  You can either be equal, or you can have one person presiding.  You can't have both.

My boss may be really nice to me, but that doesn't make me his equal. He's my boss. He can fire me or assign me to projects I don't really want to do. He could punish me or give me a raise. Because he "presides" over me. And that's fine for at work, but don't get annoyed when a Wacky Feminist like me thinks that's a bad way to run a relationship.

Somewhere else over on the Internet, I stepped in it when I said I was sick of stay-at-home-mothers claiming they are so looked down upon, disrespected, and degraded by others.  (And it's true. I am.)

But I wasn't clear about what I meant (despite my love of words and their definitions) and the next thing I knew I was being taken to town. 

So I have to back up and look at what I said and really try to get it right.

What I should have said was this:

I am sick of people mistaking rudeness or a lack of tact for "degradation" or "disrespect." Yes, I am sure people are rude to stay-at-home-mothers. That is not nice.

But that is all it is -- behavior on par with idle gossip and being cut off in traffic.

I am annoyed when people say, "I don't know how you stand being a lawyer, I would find it so boring!"  But only a little, because I understand that to a lot of people, IT WOULD BE BORING.  Hell, I sometimes find it boring.  No one is saying I am a boring person. (I hope.)

So why is it so different when someone says, "I don't know how you stand staying at home with kids all day, I would find it so boring"?  Sure, it's more rude, because stay-at-home-mothers command less societal prestige, but at its core, the statement is merely tactless in its delivery. Some people WOULD find that boring, why is that so awful?

(Here's a secret, boys and girls -- I suspect a lot of stay-at-home-mothers also find it boring. Guess what? They aren't doing it because they expected to be intellectually stimulated every five minutes.)

A snotty comment at a party is not "degrading."  No one stripped you of rank or honor, brought you into low honor or disrespute, dragged you down into moral or intellectual character.  Think I'm being hyperbolic?  I'm not--THAT'S THE DEFINITION OF "DEGRADING."  Buck up, people.

If a person is comfortable with his or her choices of profession, political opinion, religious affiliation, or lifestyle, an off-hand comment or even deliberately rude statement should not be considered "degrading."  It should be considered tactless.  Thoughtless.  Immature.

We do not get on our soapboxes over immaturity, I would hope.  We blow off immaturity.

(And if you're not comfortable with your choices ... well, maybe you should make different choices.)

When stay-at-home-mothers insist that they are "disrespected" on a daily, personal, institutional level, they aren't helping the so-called culture wars. They're adding fuel to the fire, because what they are really saying is that anything other than fawning adoration is disrespect. (If I can "degrade" you on accident, what level of behavior do I need to display to avoid degrading you?)

Here's another secret -- most people in our society DO respect stay-at-home-mothers.*  But for some reason, we love perpetuating this myth that we don't. Why?

Because society enjoys a good catfight, of the intellectual or Jello pudding variety.





* Does this mean "respect" translates into actual policies that don't hurt stay-at-home-mothers or working mothers?  (Divorce laws, administration of retirement benefits, the tax code, limited maternity leave, etc.?)  Jeez, of course it doesn't.

But respect for firefighters and school teachers hasn't earned them any extra money either.  We live in a strange world, and that's a topic for a different day.

Getting theological up in the hiz-ouse

Everyone knows that there is a difference between what people believe and doctrine, right?

The Koran forbids suicide, but suicide-bombers find ways to justify their actions in religious fervor.  The New Testament forbids violence toward others, but that doesn't stop some Christians from proposing ways to make killing abortion clinic employees a form of "justified homicide."  (And you know what they say about apples and barrels.  They smell nice in the fall.)

What a religion says and what people do with that are often two different things, and for the most part, I think that's just a fact of life everyone understands.

Except when it comes to littler things.

Move away from the irony that most religions preach non-violence, and yet religious people can lay the smackdown with the best of them, and take a look at some of the smaller quirks in various religious traditions.

Here's one from mine -- I was told as a kid by a Sunday School teacher that when I was a little pre-mortal spirit up in heaven, I looked down at earth and said, "Yup, those two.  I want to be their kid."

This was done, no doubt, to cause me to feel serious guilt when I took my parents for granted or ever got around to rebelling.  And that is what Sunday School teachers do -- they make kids feel guilty.  It's basically the half the job description: "Sing songs.  Guilt kids."

But everyone who does even a tiny bit of research into the Mormon religion knows that that's not true -- it's just an urban legend created by legions of well-meaning-but-somewhat-creepy Sunday School and seminary teachers after a few too many viewings of Saturday's Warrior.* 

Alright, so now we have our dissonance identified: the Mormon church does not teach that we pick our earthly experiences up in heaven v. a decent chunk of Mormons probably believe that this is at least partly true.

Here's the part that boggles my mind.

Someone in the camp who knows it's not true will blow a gasket when confronted with the fact that yes, some Mormons believe this.  "The church doesn't actually teach that!  If you did any research, you would know!"

Look, I know the church doesn't teach it.  That isn't the point.  The point is, a lot of people believe it, and that influences the way those people interact with the world.

It's one thing to point out a misunderstanding or misapplication of facts, but another to deny the fact that there are plenty of people misunderstanding or misapplying all over the place, just because YOU don't misunderstand or misapply.

And really, it shouldn't matter that people have additional, extracurricular, or even contradictory beliefs when compared with their professed religion.  You want to be a Jewish Christian?  An existential Catholic?  An atheist who believes in heaven?  A vegan Episcopalian?  A pro-choice Baptist?

Go forth and prosper, my homies, as long as what you choose doesn't scrape the skin off my nose or someone else's.  That's why we're all here on this planet -- to find a way of living that is meaningful and makes sense to us.

Or that's what I believe, anyway.





* Totally random, but worth sharing.  When I was a kid, I would mentally re-write things to make them less lame, and then forget I'd done it.  When I was in college and someone mentioned the episode of Saved By The Bell where Jessie gets addicted to caffeine pills, I was SHOCKED, because I was sure she had been addicted to cocaine (which is a real addiction, and therefore not ludicrous).  I held firm to this belief until we went back to the dorms and YouTubed the "I'm so excited, I'm so excited, I'm so scared" clip and I was forced to admit that, indeed, Jessie Spano's greatest  moment of teenage darkness came in the form of pep pills.

Same thing happened with Saturday's Warrior, a horrifyingly bad Mormon morality play, complete with big hair and bad songs.  (For the record, my parents never rented Saturday's Warrior for me, but I did watch it a friend's house in second grade.  And this is what really happens when parents don't double-check what their kids are doing at their friends' houses--kids watch bad, non-church produced musicals with a lot of fog effects.)

For all my fellow 80s-born Mormon friends -- remember when the family's oldest son Jimmy joins a "gang"?  And that gang is identifiable mostly by their even baggier neon clothes, their profligate daytime napping, their littering, and their dark eye makeup? 

My childlike brain told me that this was a real gang, complete with violence and drug use and gun trafficking and thinly veiled misogyny and racism.  Because otherwise, why would Jimmy's family be so very upset that he had fallen in with these reprobates?   

But when I re-watched Saturday's Warrior as an adult, for nostalgia's sake, I realized that, no, actually, the "gang" was mostly just advocating for zero population growth.

Really.

But there are so many things I haven't done!

As you all know, the Rapture is this Saturday, and it's causing a lot of people unnecessary stress.  As Diego wrote on facebook tonight, "The world is ending and I'm totally unprepared.  My room is a mess, I have a stack of books and TV shows I need to finish, I never got to travel by hot air balloon, and I have a ton of unused coupons.  Can we get a little more notice next time?  This is really inconvenient."  

But never fear, my non-wacko friends, because a little known fact about the Rapture is that all that's going to happen is the wackiest and most irrational of Christians will be taken up into heaven, leaving the rest of us (regular Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Sikhs, Zoroastrianists, agnostics, atheists, etc.) to endure months of torment before Judgment, which has been penciled in for sometime this October.  So plenty of time to use those Groupons.

In the meantime, do your good deed of the week and promise to dog sit for anyone who happens to be Raptured this weekend. Now is the time we all have to band together, people.

Problems with gaydar

So a lot of attention gets paid to single Mormon folk.  Did you know this?  Well, now you do. 

It was actually a big topic of conversation at the last General Conference -- get married, get married, get married.  Wait, what are we supposed to do?  Kidding, kidding, I heard it.

Mormon oldies put a lot of thought and effort into how to make us all pair off and make babies, which inevitably reminds me of the scene in Keeping the Faith where Ben Stiller's rabbi character blurts out, "There's a reason why pandas don't mate in captivity!" Anyway, I have come up with my own solution.

Closeted Mormon gay boys?  Please just come out of the closet.

I have been on a date with a gay Mormon boy before.  Probably more than one, honestly, but only one that I am positive was a Kinsey-scale 6.*

I know I have a lot of gay friends, and therefore maybe I see gayness where there is none.  But this kid?  It was like being on a date with Carson Kressley.  He managed to cock every joint in his upper body--wrist, neck, elbow, hip--all while sitting down.  When he asked me how my week had been going and I admitted to being busy and having some trouble sleeping, he patted my hand and said, "Oh sweetie!  Ya do look a little ragged."

(For the record, I did not look ragged--I had a particularly cute outfit on.  But I was so blown away by the utter gayness of that sentence that I didn't even realize it was also rude for about ten seconds.)

The problem comes in when you go on a date with a guy and think, "I am 25% sure he's gay."  Or, "This one's at least 75% gay."  Or, "You know, he's a complete toss up."  In general, I find Mormon men a little bit more effeminate than your average Joe. It's something about the culture, I guess. And the ones who aren't that effeminate? Well, let's just say a sizable chunk of those remind me of Chris Cooper's character in American Beauty.** 

Hint.  Hint. 

But if all the truly gay ones would just come out of the closet, then I wouldn't have this problem anymore. (And yes, once again, it's all about me.)  Even if a guy was questionable (in the effeminate or American Beauty sense), I could feel confident in thinking, "Well, if he were gay, he would have said something by now.  And also not have asked me on this date."

You're welcome for the idea, General Authorities.



* For the record, it was a blind date.  No, I don't regularly accept dates from gay boys.  Yes, I wanted to strangle the match-maker in this case.

** Just in case the question is prompted ... yes, I know a lot of non-effeminate, non-compensating Mormon men, including friends and relatives.  I'm just saying the overall percentages are higher, and that makes for some awkward dating experiences. 

For better or worse

When I was 14, I learned the most important relationship lesson of my life.  (Weird, right?  But it happens.)

I was in Sunday School and our teacher was telling us a story.  Now, not to rip on my old Sunday School teacher too badly, but she was kind of a trip.  The phrase "cool mom" never meant more than with this woman. She had the trendy haircut and elaborate highlights, a better tan than any of us teenage girls (with our stern parents keeping us out of tanning beds, those jerks), a wardrobe that she shared with her high school aged daughters, and a seemingly endless supply of those platform wedge sandals and flip flops that were so cool circa 1999.

And on this Sunday, she told us a story about her marriage.

(Sidenote: Do I feel bad sharing someone else's personal information on the Internet, even if it is anonymously?  I don't know.  Kinda, I guess.  But it definitely helps that she shared her marital problems with a dozen ninth graders, so her expectation of privacy is rather low.)

When Cool Sunday School Teacher was preggo with her youngest child, her husband came to her and told her he had serious doubts about the LDS church.  He had lost his faith and no longer wished to attend church or anything else that goes along with being Mormon.

Cool Sunday School Teacher told us that although it broke her heart, her response was to kick her husband and father of four children (including one in utero) out of the house until he regained his testimony, which -- surprise, surprise -- he did within a matter of months.

No doubt Cool Sunday School Teacher meant to impress upon us the importance of devotion to God (her response), or the fact that trials lead to deepening faith (her husband's alleged response).  Maybe it worked on the other kids, I don't know. 

But for me, all it did was reinforce the idea that finding someone who agrees with you is less important than finding someone who is loyal to you.

Did Brother Cool Sunday School Teacher really have the change of heart he told his pregnant wife about?  I'm going to fight my natural cynicism and say, "Maybe."  

But the real issue is, can Cool Sunday School Teacher answer that question?  If she's honest, the answer is no.  No, she doesn't know whether her husband experienced a religious re-awakening or whether he lied to get his wife and children back.  She never will, because when he had a trial of his faith, her response was to kick him to the curb and feel righteous about it.  Ironically, this also means that if her husband did have the religious experience he claimed, she doesn't really get as much joy out of it because on some level she will have to wonder if the whole thing was fabricated.

Because realistically, when presented with the choice to push aside feelings of doubt and disbelief (which aren't fun to begin with) so you can regain your family, most people choose the easy lying route, and I say this with no judgment.  And it's been (gulp) over a decade years since she told us that story, making it a full 20 years since the original marital estrangement of Brother and Sister Cool Sunday School Teacher.

Maybe he did lie, but since then he's found spiritual peace.  Or maybe he's still as miserable as he must have been when he first approached his wife about his feelings.  Maybe he just doesn't think about any of it anymore. Your guess is as good as mine.

Even more painfully obvious is the fact that Brother Cool Sunday School Teacher will never be able to honestly share his feelings about religion and spirituality with his wife, unless she has subsequently apologized for breaking her own marriage vows by not accepting and supporting him at the moment he needed her most.  Real religious experience or not, he knows now that his wife will only support him in good times -- which in a way, even makes the good times less sweet.

Don't get me wrong, I think if you have a certain list of "dealbreakers," then that's all there is to it.  But in my opinion, dealbreakers are for dating.  Once you're in a real, grown-up, big-girl-pants relationship, it's pretty immature to say, "I will only love you if X, Y, and Z."

To throw in some unnecessary lawyer speak at the end of this post, it's the difference between run-of-the-mill breach and material breach in a contract.  Married people probably breach (ie, little breach) their contract all the time.  It happens, much like real estate agents and mortgage companies will never successfully close a real estate deal on time.  You may get flowers or a reduction in closing costs to compensate you for the breach, and you may even get nothing at all.  (Such is life.)

But material breach (the biggies) are hopefully rare.  Material breaches are the ones that can end the contract.  But even in the case of material breach, it's the non-breaching party's duty to attempt to mitigate his or her damages. 

Yes, some breaches are unforgivable, at which point you must release the divorce lawyers like Zeus released the Kraken oh-so-long ago.  (Mwahahahahaha!  We're going to take your money AND your dignity! - Cordially Yours, The Divorce Lawyers.)  But the thing that most people forget about is that when you react to a little breach by attempting to get out of the contract altogether, you are the one in material breach -- the big no-no, in other words.  You are the one who is in the wrong, you are the one who owes damages.

Cool Sunday School Teacher was not wrong to feel hurt or lost by her husband's confession of doubt, but like the person who tried to get out of buying a house as soon as she found out the pipes were stamped with the wrong brand name, she screwed the pooch when she forgot she promised him eternal loyalty before he ever promised her to never change his mind.





A song that reminds me of someone: "Abide With Me, 'Tis Eventide" - reminds me of my grandmother.  

So a walrus and a banana go on a date ...

Awhile back, I was set up on a blind date. (Feel free to judge.) At the time, it seemed like a good idea.  Really cute, grad school, likes football, etc. and so forth.  But (as you've probably guessed, given that I'm blogging about it) I was so, so wrong.

First, he texted me 172 times within a week of me giving him my number.  (That's not an exaggeration.  That's the number.)  I don't like texting in general, but that is way too much by anyone's estimation.  And it's all crap, like, "Good morning, how is your day today?"  (UH, super busy.  Same as yesterday when you texted me the exact same damn thing.  Thanks for asking again.)  Also, the phrase, "Hey good looking"?  Icky.

He also came across as a bit of a psycho in these texts.  In one, he "joked" about us going out every day this week.  Then he "joked" about us getting married.  Then he "joked" about renting a tux and limo for our first date.  As you can imagine, I didn't find these jokes particularly amusing, no matter how many winky-face emoticons there were.

We were supposed to go out two weeks ago, but I was busy with work and not feeling super hot, so I asked if we could postpone.  After that, he asked me EVERY SINGLE DAY how I was feeling.  And then when the blessed day finally arrives and we're on our date, he says, "Oh my gosh, I haven't asked you how you're feeling yet!"

When I replied, "Uh, yeah you have," he just looked all confused, as if he didn't realize that asking me Friday-Saturday-Sunday-Monday-Tuesday-AND THAT MORNING how I was feeling in text counted as appropriate concern for my ailments. 

(Why did I even go out with him?  I don't know, I felt like I couldn't bail twice.)

I asked how his day had been, and he said, "Oh it's a funny story.  It involves a walrus and a banana."  When I stared at him with my best Are you serious face, he says, "Not really," and laughs like that his HILARIOUS.

He then proceeds to ask me all those first date questions anyone past the age of 13 knows are annoying.  How many brothers and sisters?  What are your hobbies?  What do you like best about New Denver?  (Seriously.  What do you like best about the town you chose to live in?)  What music do you like?  A little automatic machine gun of questions, that one.  I should have printed up a dating resume and just handed it to him. 

He then makes it clear he doesn't remember ANYTHING from our phone conversation, because he asks me when I went to law school, what other places I have lived, how long I have worked at my new job -- about a dozen things he had already asked me a few days before.  And then within 20 minutes, he had forgotten the answers AGAIN, because he says something about me being at my job for three years.

(Yes, I know this is a major sign he has mixed me up with a different girl.  Moving right along ...)

And he had no sense for social cues. For example, I had just been at work for 12 hours, and he wanted to talk about it.  Did you not hear the part about me being at work for TWELVE HOURS? Who wants to talk about work after being there for twelve hours? Ladies and gents, I don't have a poker face.  When I don't like something, you can pretty much tell just by looking at me -- unless you're my date, apparently.

Then he tells me how New Denver people are weird, and I just wanted to say, "Or you're incredibly pushy and our laid-back mountain people ways can't handle it."

The thing is, I think someone must have told him once that he's pushy, because when he asked me out, he asked me if he was being too forward.  I had to seriously resist saying, "Not really.  That's what you're supposed to do with a girl's phone number."  As I walked to my car, I kind of wanted to give him a date review card that said, "Asking a girl out is not forward.  Texting her ten million times when she has never initiated a text to you is.  Joking about getting married is.  And for the record, gesturing to your admittedly handsome face and asking, 'So is this what you were expecting?' may not be forward, but it is a little douchey."

He finally seems to get that this is not going super well, so he says, "I'm really nervous."  And I (feeling bad) say, "Oh, sorry." And then he laughs again - "Not really, hahahahahaha" -- the banana and walrus thing all over again. 

My favorite moment of the evening came when he asked me whether it's pronounced, "Rumbee or Rumb-eye."  I tell him it's "Rumbee" and he goes (in maximum Mormon cheese voice) "How do you know?  How do you know it's not Rumb-eye?"*

What I should have said:  Because the girl at the front said, "Welcome to Rumbis" when we got to the counter.  Because there's actually a pronunciation guide on the dessert menu that's right in front of your face.  Because I know that's how it's pronounced, and if you didn't want to know you shouldn't have even asked me. 

But what I really said, in my best silly Mormon voice, "Oh, I don't know!"

Because really, I was probably not being my nicest anyway, we were definitely not going out again, and you have to throw a kid a bone now and then.




* I know I've said it before, but I really do blame Jack Weyland for this phenomenon where a Mormon boy thinks that by challenging you on something silly or random, he becomes charming.  It's not charming.  It's so annoying I don't even know where to begin.  Yet I constantly run into boys who repeatedly try to talk me out of what food I order or what movie I pick in the name of so-called spontaneity, try to convince me to pretend that we're engaged when we're not because it will supposedly be "hilarious," and act like they don't believe me when I inform them not-all-that-important facts.

("Are you sure your birthday is in March, haha?"  YES, you ass.  NO, my parents did not lie to me as a child.  Even if they did, it would not be "hilarious."  It would be psychotic.  Why do you think everything is hilarious?)

Mormon Boys.  JUST STOP.  And yes, it is just you.  I have never--NEVER--gone out with a non-Mormon boy who did ANY of this.**  It's the square is a rectangle but a rectangle is not always a square rule: of course not every Mormon boy is a giant contrarian cheesemonster of douchiness, but a giant contrarian cheesemonster of douchiness is inevitably a Mormon boy.

(And yes, I know very few Mormon boys ever read Jack Weyland, so really, I blame the psychotic Mormon girls who read him, and then encouraged psychotic Mormon boys to use his tactics.  If you want to get all technical about it.)


**  (Of course, they do other irritating things, but that's a topic for another day.)***


*** AND yes, I know Mormon girls can be equally irritating.  I never said otherwise.  See above explanation re: psychotic Mormon girls.

In defense of tardiness

I have this voice in my head that says, "Be nice to everyone."

Given my natural instincts toward meanness, this can lead to some inner-turmoil.  Mostly silent inner turmoil.

The turmoil is generally biggest at church.

Two Sundays ago I made the catastrophic mistake of being on time to Sunday School.  Why is that a problem, you ask?  Well, when you're in a singles ward full of wackadoodles, if you're on time, that means anyone--ANYONE--can plunk down next to you. 

The ideal tactic is to show up late, which is rude, but provides you the opportunity to scan the room, identify the open seat with the least proximity to the girl who brings sugar gliders in a bag to church*, and take it.

Unfortunately this was my last Sunday, and my friend the Sunday School teacher's last Sunday, so I had promised I'd be on time.

Within thirty seconds, I was surrounded.  On one side, the guy who was muttering Really Deep Thoughts to himself, and on the other, I had the guy who was making really lame jokes that even people at church weren't laughing at.  (And believe me ... Mormons will laugh at anything if it's said at church.)

The Sunday School teacher had brought cookies for everyone (Grasshoppers, since the lesson was on John the Baptist, which is pretty clever) and the Jokester (who had taken a stack of cookies so large he could barely clutch them between his thumb and pinkie) offered me one of his.  "Want a Thin Mint?" he asked, holding one of his 18 cookies out to me on his sweaty paw. 

I wanted to do so many things.  I wanted to correct him--Thin Mints are from the Girl Scouts, these are Keebler knockoffs.  I wanted to be mean--Did you not realize there a like a billion other people in this ward before you took 18 cookies?  I wanted to be disgusted--No, I don't want a cookie that you've held in your bare hand, did your mother not teach you any manners?  I wanted to point out the obvious--Can't you see I'm already holding one?  One, as in how many you should have taken?

And there was the voice chirping away--"Be nice to everyone!"  It sounds a little like a talking Barbie.

So I just smiled awkwardly and and shook my head.

Here's the thing, with my apologies to better Christians than me everywhere.  You can't be nice to everyone.  I have learned this the hard way, over and over again.  You can be nice to sad people or mean people or bitter people or angry people, but when you are nice to WEIRD people, you aren't actually being nice to them.  You are enabling their weirdness. 

Is it nice to buy an alcoholic a drink?  Only in the most twisted sense.

So when you meet a 30-something year old man who takes all the cookies and repeatedly makes jokes that no one is laughing at, you know it's because no one has ever been appropriately mean to him.  He has gained a false sense of normalcy despite his overwhelming oddness.  Who did he sit by, given the chance?  Not Sugar Glider Girl.  Not Pioneer Skirt.  Not Miss Dungeons and Dragons or Has-A-Copy-Of-Twilight-in-Her-Scripture-Tote.  (Yes, they were all there, and might have appreciated the proffered "Thin Mint.")

He sat next to me, Miss Relatively Normal with no pets on my lap, no floor length skirt, no raccoonish makeup, no copy of Twilight with a broken spine from re-reading the kissing scene.  He seeks out a normal girl every week, and then that unlucky girl has to sit there smiling awkwardly, enabling his weirdness as he talks about magic.  Because we all have chirpy voices in our heads saying, "Be nice!", we have unwittingly created someone for whom normal is now out of his league.

So no, I did not take his cookie, but nor could I bring myself to tell him it was uncool to have taken so many.  I just smiled awkwardly like I have every time I have encountered the Jokester, and told myself this was nice enough.

And on my other side, the Mutterer.

Everyone has that moment when they've been talking and suddenly realize no one is listening.  But regular people just smile awkwardly and shut up.  Weirdos get confrontational.  "Well, I guess I'll just stop talking since no one is listening," the Mutterer muttered bitterly every time I failed to respond to one of his deep spiritual thoughts, witty bon mots or criticisms of various LDS leaders.**

In any other context I would have looked him in the eye and said, "If no one is listening, then you should shut the hell up."  But it's church, so ... Be nice to everyone!

And there I sat, my eyes glued to the board for forty minutes.  If I looked even the tiniest bit in the direction of the Jokester, he held up a sweaty cookie with a depressingly hopeful look .  If I look towards the Mutterer, he gets encouraged about his muttering and goes into overdrive.  The Sunday School teacher, who clearly saw my predicament, just smirked at me.

Anyway.

My point is, now I've learned my lesson.  It's too tough to rebel against 26 years of social training to be nice.  I'm just going to go with being late all the time.






* She is a nice girl and they seem like nice pets, but I had to sit next to her once and I nearly passed out from the smell emanating from their ventilated bag.  Can you get up and change seats in the middle of a Sunday School lesson?  No, you cannot, no matter how sensitive your gag reflex is.  I love animals, but they do not belong at church. 

Feel free to judge me now.  Unlike many things on this blog, I stand by that opinion.


** I feel I have to throw out a caveat, since I have done my fair share of complaining about LDS church leaders, past and present.  It is A-OK in my book to have a respectful conversation about concerns, criticisms, curiosities, etc. about church if you're in an appropriate setting.

Church itself is almost certainly not an appropriate setting for certain comments, and here is why.  If you have a problem with something, sure, there are probably other people there who have the same problem.  But there are also people there who DON'T have a problem, and you have just made them very uncomfortable in a place they expected to feel comfortable.  (Is church sometimes supposed to make you uncomfortable?  Yeah yeah yeah ...)  Because of the "Be nice to everyone!" voices, no one likes to pipe up to confront possible hijacker of a Sunday School lesson, so your weird comment just hangs there in the universe, un-responded to.

So save it for a time and place where you won't have to get pissed off that no one commented about your pissed off comment, buddy.

Vaya con Dios

For whatever reason, deciding between my new job and my current job was really tough for me.  For a week, I agonized over a decision that presumably shouldn't have been a tough call.

But since then, a thousand little things have happened that have made me sure that I was right.

I found a new apartment in the blink of an eye.

My landlord let me out of my current lease without any fuss.

Everyone I have told at my current job congratulated me.

And today at church, the new Relief Society first counselor called me out in the hall to unceremoniously kick me out of my ward. 

I don't know what annoyed me most about that.  The fact that she asked, "Are you Ru?" even though we've had at least three conversations, including one where I was her visiting teacher.  The fact that she deprived me of my "I'm leaving, bitches!" moment.  The fact that after she said somewhat-callously, "You're not in our ward anymore" and I told her I was moving anyway, she got really sweet and asked, "Oh, do you need any help?"

No ma'am.  No, I don't. 

On the plus side, this is going to make it really easy to play the church-records shuffle in my new town.

Yankee Doodle Sighting Number 2

He's back!

Different sports coat - black velvet this time.  Different riding boots - black leather.  Different riding pants -black again.  His vest was black-and-silver and the tie MATCHED.

I know Thanksgiving is on Thursday, but this really might be the high point of my week.