Cops and TSA Wannabes

Every Friday night is date night. Except now that we are married and don't need to impress each other with witty stories and marathon nights, it usually just ends up being just dinner (at Carl's Jr., Smokehouse, Zupas, or Slab Pizza).

Last night I had the idea to go to dinner and then drive the Alpine Loop. Nate quickly shot me down because he had "too much homework". Once he realized my disappointment at the only idea I've had in months that I actually wanted to do, he stated "I bet it's not even open because of the shut down and the state parks...".

So I helped him with his homework, which included posting posters about the pro bono clinic UVU was sponsoring. We spent almost an hour on Friday night running around to the different government buildings.

The cherry on top was the last stop on our "tour". The fourth district court. When you walk in the door you are handed a plastic bin and told to put anything metal in it and walk through the metal detector. There were four (yes four) security guards standing at the metal detector watching us empty our pockets and walk through. I had already emptied my pockets and was taking my sweatshirt off (I think I've been to the airport too many times) before Nate had time to reach for the bin. As I'm walking towards the detector the cop holds up my keys by my pocket knife and says "Are you planning on bringing this with you?!". I responded "Yes" and kept walking. He said "You can't". I thought he was joking and stated "What am I going to do with it?! Stab someone." Nate picking up on the fact that I couldn't go in with it and that I wasn't understanding said "Yeah, you can't bring that in". I told the officer "Well, can you just hold it for me and I'll get it from you when I leave?". "No!" answered the guard. At this same time Nate pulled out a handful of thumb tacks he was using to put up the posters and asked "Am I ok to bring these in". The same guard said "Yeah, you're fine". I retorted "Seriously?! He can go in with those but I can't go in with my 1inch pocket knife? What are you the TSA or something?!". None of the officers were amused at my joke. Not even half smiles! The officer on the end wanted to know what Nate had that I thought was dangerous and when they replied "tacks", he said "Well if she thinks it's a threat, we shouldn't let him in either". Meanwhile it was 5 minutes until they closed.

I choose to remain by the door while Nate went in and posted the posters. Once he was out of sight the officer that refused to let me in said "I think someone came in here yesterday and already posted those." He then pointed to the wall where the poster we were trying to post was displayed. I asked "Was it a heavy set girl who came?" as Nate's new co-worker (and the one actually in charge of posting the posters and the only thing I know about her is that she is too large for a chair with arm rests so she had to trade for Nate's arm restless chair two days earlier). That question was the only time I got a smile out of the guards. "No she wasn't" was the reply. Nate came around the corner and said "Some one already posted them here" and I answered "I know."

It was such a romantic evening.

OW

There's a movement among Mormon Feminists. It's called the Ordain Women Movement or OW. I've stayed quiet for a long time on this, but I know wish to express why I support the movement.

My father has changed for the better. When I was young, he thought and taught that women belonged in the kitchen. We were supposed to make dinner and clean up after. We were to clean the house while the boys did the yard work. Girls danced and boys played sports.

It pissed me off royally. I remember countless extended family dinners where my sister and I would be stuck washing the dishes while my brothers played nintendo. We would complain to our dad that we had peeled all the potatoes and now had to do dishes. I remember when my sister was allowed to go outside and pull weeds. I hurried with my house chores so I could pull them too. We gave up our ballet shoes for cleats and sneakers when our teacher moved to Florida (we tried another studio, but I cried the entire time because there were boys in my class).

I'm not sure if it was the constant complaining that I am just as good as a boy, or my constant aggressiveness towards showing my dad that I can do what any one else could, but my dad's opinion of me changed. I've been known to be the only girl helping take down chairs after meetings, often carrying 4 chairs and wearing high heels while other men carry one. My father made me be independent. When I was 16 he told me I wasn't allowed to come home without a job. When my car would break, he would stand next to me and teach me how to fix things.

I remember being in my awkward phase (which unfortunately lasted for WAY TOO LONG!), sitting in the church pew angry as a turkey that I wasn't allowed to pass the sacrament. Why were the boys allowed to do something I wasn't?! No one had a good enough answer, but I trusted in the "women are to be mothers" philosophy the church taught.

I held tightly to this idea, until 2011 when my OBGYN told me I wouldn't be able to have kids without medical assistance. I did what any normal person would do, I acted like nothing was wrong as my OBGYN tried to console me. I told her I had complete faith in medicine and she looked concerned at my lack of concern. And then, once safely in the car, I cried like a baby. And then I called my mom. She didn't answer. So I called my bestie. She didn't answer. So I went to the temple. I bawled the entire time and the lady in front of my probably thought I had just lost my parents. I finally got a hold of my mom and she did not believe my doctor. She demanded another opinion. So I consulted another OBGYN who told me not only would I be not be able to have children on my own, but if I went off birth control my chances for uterine cancer increased exponentially. Thanks mom, I really needed cancer added on to all of this.

So why the tears? My whole life I had trusted in the fact my entire purpose relied on the idea that I was meant to be a mother. Now I must digress, I've always wanted to adopt, but when you are taught from the womb your PURPOSE is to pop out more things like you, it takes a toll. It made me feel broken. I felt obligated to tell those I seriously dated that I was dysfunctional. And it may be the people I dated, but it wasn't always well received. So what was my purpose now?

Now don't give that "it takes a village" BS. I've made a career of connecting with people with special needs. I have had callings in nursery (which is a great form of birth control by the way). But it isn't enough to fill the 'purpose' I am supposed to have. Don't give me that "next life" shenanigans either. The fact I may be blessed in another life does not help the fact I can't fulfill the purpose I am supposed to fill right now.

The gender roles supported by the LDS church are not equal, obviously. I'm not looking for equality, I'm not looking for fairness. I'm looking for a better purpose. Women who never get married, those who can't have kids, and all those with other "issues" are indoctrinated to feel worthless. Now you may argue differently, but may I ask "Have you ever been in this situation? How did you get out of the situation? And because you're no longer in the situation, can you really objectively argue differently?"

Many, myself included, argue that "Blacks" and the priesthood is on the similar level that women and the priesthood are. The revelation of 1979 came only after much publicity, pressure, and protesting. Did you know that people picketed and boycotted BYU games? Am I implying that the revelation wasn't from God? In part yes. I think it came from God but I think the political pressure played a greater role in the timing than most are likely to admit. Just like the pressure from the government and social society preceded the end of polygamy.

So why is no one picketing BYU games? I think it may be because women's issues aren't on the same playing field as civil rights. I also think the church has polarized itself. Too many are putting women's rights along with gay rights. I think all should have rights, but I'm not getting on this soap box right now.

Now I'm not burning my bras; heaven knows I need to lock and load the girls. I'm not even wearing pants to church, even though it would be a lot easier because I wouldn't have to shave my legs (which I usually don't anyways). What I want people to get from this, is to understand the background and not just the stance.

The idea that virtue is tied to whether a person has worth teaches people that if they make a mistake or if they have been abused, they are worthless. The idea that your purpose is tied to your ability to have children, is flawed and perpetrates the idea of worthlessness. I should not be defined by what comes out of my uterus, because that would make me a bloody mess right now.

I believe there needs to be a change. I don't know if women having the Priesthood is the best option, but I think movement is better than the stagnant worthlessness the church is currently teaching.

So Bring on the Rain

I remember a few years back one of Young Women's leaders made a comment about how she wants to move back to Utah because they actually have seasons there. I believe I told her she was crazy and Jess told her to move back to Utah, or maybe it was the other way around.

So for all of you who thinks Utah has seasons, you are wrong, and here is proof:

Notice there are a few leaves that are changing colors, but NOTHING like Washington. However, the reality of the situation is the fact there is snow on Oct 4.

October is a month for fall in the northern hemisphere. And snow is for winter. Looks like Utah once again missed fall.

Show Me Your Teeth

A couple of weeks ago, I went in for my routine dentist checkup and I was told I needed six fillings. 6. But don't worry, I haven't been going crazy with the candy. Apparently, my teeth are too cavernous; my ridges too deep.

Now if you're like me, you'll think that's just a bunch of crap made up to get money out of someone. But this is the 3rd dentist who has told me this. So I did what any self-respecting person with insurance would do, and I scheduled to have them all filled at once.

When I showed up for my appointment I was told that they only had time to fill four of them that day. Why was this an issue? Now I had to go back again instead of sleeping in my next day off and by sleeping in I mean at least 10:00 am. We went ahead and they numbed the entire left side of my face (I have to have the block numbing because the localized Novocain doesn't work for me).

The doctor walked in and started talking to his assistance about the root canal he was working on the in other room. The young boy's tonsils were so swollen they were worried his airway was going to close. He sat down next to me and I said "You don't have to worry, I don't have tonsils". He was amazed to find out that I had mine removed when I was five.

He finished all four within 20 minutes. I walked out of the office to pay my co-pay and I was hit with a $250.00 bill. You read that right. I nonchalantly asked "So my insurance didn't cover any of it?" as not to appear poor. "Oh no," said the male receptionist who doesn't know he's gay "your insurance will only cover the cost of the metal fillings and the $250 is the amount remaining to cover the rest for the white fillings."

Awesome.

Don't worry, I still have two more to fill and pay for.

Redemption

Two Sundays ago I decided to make cookies to take to my grandma's house. Once I started I realized I didn't have butter. So I made the decision to use the Country Crock Spread we had in the fridge. I also had to use our "storage" oats because we ran out of the oats we usually use for cooking. Not a problem right, because I can be flexible.

As I'm stirring the "butter" with the ingredients, it looked really funny. It was chunking up and not mixing. I just thought it was because it was still cold and would mix in with the dry ingredients. Well, it did and I finished up the cookies and started baking them. I put the first batch in the oven and started scooping out the second batch when I tasted it. I gagged. Why did it taste so bad?! Then I realized, I forgot to put the sugar in. I had two choices: add the sugar at the end or throw the whole thing away. I decided to at least try to add the sugar since we were out of oats. It tasted a bit sweeter, but still tasted like a rabbit's cage. The cookies came out flat, crispy, and sticking to the parchment paper. Anything that sticks to parchment paper scares me. We decided to throw the whole batch out and go to Grandma's empty handed.

It freaked me out! How could I forget the sugar of all things?! I mean I could understand not putting in salt or baking soda, but SUGAR?!!! I felt like I was turning into my mom.

I was talking with my cousin's wife about my cookie fail. She said that she thinks my oats were bad because of the rabbit food taste. Well, I went home and did a little dumpster diving and it turns out our oats were 6 months expired. Yum.

So yesterday came my chance at redemption. I made sure I took everything needed for the cookies and placed them on the counter. When I had added them, I put it away. I halved the recipe so that we wouldn't be eating stale cookies for a week, and if I messed up it wouldn't be too big of a deal. The dough tasted amazing and the first batch came out a little under done. So I did what anyone would do and put the next and final batch in for an extra minute. Well I didn't take into account that I was using a different kind of cookie sheet, and I burnt the entire batch. Seriously. So much for redemption.

Then came dinner and the canned jalapenos I planned to use for our enchiladas was a bit bulgy. We played it safe and since we didn't have onions or jalapenos the enchiladas tasted more like lasagna. Better luck next week?

R.E.S.P.E.C.T Find Out What it Means to Me

Those of you who know me well know that I have problems. Problems with authority, problems with having to be right, and problems with speaking my mind.

I grew up as a feminist in what I thought was a patriarchal society. And yet, my parents taught me to state my opinions, back them up, and know that I was loved even if they didn't agree.

My husband is born and bred Utahn. I didn't really have a problem with it because he wasn't a Jazz fan. I wanted the court house wedding and he wanted the whole sha bang. We balanced each other pretty well.

However, he grew up in an extreme rightist patriarchal society. One in which for the first year we were married his father never called on a female to bless the meal. Or on pie nights, the women would make the pies, eat after all the men had ate, and then cleaned up everything. How my husband turned out the way he did, is still a mystery to me.

Life was manageable, until we started going to his grandparents' every week which was the family norm. Every one would sit around the room and discuss whatever they thought, but since they all thought the same way it was almost crazy. I remember once that Facebook came up as a point of discussion and how girls were doing this thing called "Facebook stalking" and wasting precious hours on the internet that they could have spent indexing. I sat quiet not wanting to rock the boat since I have a tendency for the dramatics and pushing people's buttons.

It wasn't until politics came up that things got ugly. Word spread like wildfire that I was a "democrat" and the barbs started flying. "How could any good standing member of the church be a democrat?" his uncles would yell as they stared into my face. I was quickly outcasted and would often shake with fury. I let Nate have it in the car on the way home. See I have a thing about making people feel stupid when I know that they can actually comprehend what I am saying, but when ignorance is so engrained that you know it would be like talking to a brick wall, I won't waste my time.

Another uncle starting leaving the room every time we would come over and then would come back in and ask everyone a question, person to person, and then skip over Nate and I, and then leave the room. Or ask everyone who's bag he was holding, get to point where he would ask me, look me up and down, and then turn around and walk away.

Honestly, I've never been shown so much disrespect in my life. AND it was from people who were building a bunker for the end of the world, home schooled their kids, and ate gluten free despite the fact NO ONE IN THE FAMILY is a celiac.

Anyways, almost a year into our marriage my husband decided that he no longer believes in the church or God for that matter. We decided to tell his parents because he's nephew's baby blessing was coming up. Guess who got the heat for it? The democrat feminist wife. Yes I completely ruined their perfect little boy. Me, the one who still drags him to church, but do they know that? Nope.

His family doesn't know how to associate with people who aren't members. We went about 3 months where I was the only one who would ask questions and it would be answered by the fewest words they could possibly think of. So I decided I had had enough. I made Nate in charge of conversation. We started going on hikes and doing extracurricular things so people would have more to talk to us about besides our church standings. But yet, no one asks us anything. No one knows about my job changes, Nate's school, what we like to do for fun, why my toenail is purple, etc. They don't ask, even when we bait them with "We hiked Timpanogos yesterday" "Oh?!" Then they change the subject to something about church. Wait, let me be honest, his dad does ask me one question about once every other month "How's the new job? Still better than the State Hospital?!" Seriously. That's it. His dad won't even look at us when we are at the dinner table. He leaves the room as soon as dinner is done and then comes back in when he knows we are leaving.

My family talks things out. On her last trip here I sat my little sister down and asked her straight up why she doesn't like me. She didn't have any answer, but she didn't care to make things better. So there it is, it's out in the open and I can move on with my life. Maybe this isn't the healthiest way of dealing with things, but it's how I like to deal with things. But this new situation, lifestyle, I don't even know what to call it, whatever it is that I'm in, NO ONE will talk about it. So I'm blogging it, in hopes that I can some how get it out of my system.

Mount Timpanogos

Something I've never had a desire to do I actually did. I climbed Mt. Timpanogos. Grace, Nate, and I started this adventure at 1:00 pm on a Saturday and didn't finish until 11:00 pm that night. We made it to the top with relatively no problems.

What no one will ever tell you, is that up isn't the problem. It's down. My right big toe took a good beating on a couple of rocks. It felt a bit weird, like the toenail was ingrown, but I persevered. It wasn't painful, just a weird pressure. I mentioned it to the group, but decided not to be a baby and only to worry about it if blood started seeping through my shoe.

My knees were KILLING me! I clenched to my hiking pole like a grandma clenches to her cane. I was hunched over and shaking every time I had to climb down rocks. You know it's bad when you are glad the trail is going uphill inside of down. It was hurting so bad and I was going so slow that Nate refused to let me be the caboose. I started crying and tried hiding my tears, and saying "I'm fine, nothing's wrong" when Nate caught on to my sniffles. But he took my pack and watched as my knee muscles literally and visibly shook with every step.

We were in a constant race with a group of extremely annoying boy scouts. It was dark, I was tired, and in pain and we followed them onto what actually wasn't the trail (Grace had said "I don't think that is the trail" but I was so incoherent I fired back "I don't care!"). 10 minutes through the bush later we had to turn around and hike back. I started yelling "I can't do it" "I'm going to kill someone" and Nate quietly and collectively pushed me back up the hill.

We finally made it and we literally slept the rest of the weekend. When I got home, my toe was a bit swollen like the rest of my body, but nothing too bad.

Well one week later I still can't walk down stairs normally. And my toe looks like this:

I'm told by numerous people that I'm probably going to lose the nail. At least I wasn't being a baby for no reason right?

On the bright side, at least I have a legitimate reason to not run/exercise.