Sexy Healthy Wealthy

When I was a kid, I liked to masturbate.  And it wasn’t because I was thinking of *sexual* thoughts either– I was in 5th grade when I realized somehow that if I flexed all my lower body muscles at once that I would have what I now know is an orgasm.  And it felt so good that I wanted to tell everybody about it.  So one day I was in the backseat of a car with my sisters and cousins and I thought that was a good time to let them all in on this secret I had to like, the best feeling EVER.  Imagine my mom’s…um…chagrin?  So that “talk” was the beginning of a lifetime of torment, basically.  What I was doing was “imitating” something that you weren’t supposed to feel until you were Married.  In the Temple.  So I had to stop RIGHT NOW.  What I was feeling was actually Satan, and my thoughts and actions were evil. 

Trying to suppress a sexual urge, especially when it was new and fresh to me-as my hormones were kicking in- was damn near impossible.  As soon as that one thought would enter my head–literally the only way to get rid of it was to act on it.  And I tried everything.  I prayed, and cried, and prayed…then I read the Book of Mormon, being told that that was the *answer* to get these evil thoughts out of my head.

Guess what happened?   All that sexual energy went into my reading of the Book of Mormon, and then I literally just had to *do it* to get rid of it….I learned that was the only way.  This yearning for pleasure could not be supressed.  In fact, the more I tried to supress it, the stronger it became.  And the guiltier I felt.  The more depressed I became.  I knew I was a sexual slave of Satan…and it didn’t help to be taught that young women didn’t even *feel* these urges until they were married–hence–the boys were asked in routine interviews by the Bishop if they masturbated, while the girls were not.  What kind of GIRL was I?  What was WRONG with me?  I knew then that Satan had some kind of hold on me, and I felt powerless to him.  This was my dirty secret.  So to compensate I became the “perfect” one–a huge perfectionist, in school.  I wanted straight A’s.  And I got them.  I got hundreds on tests, I did so well I was placed in a “special” program, an Accelerated Learning Program for students who were above average.  I don’t think I fit in there, though–these were really genuinely intelligent kids, not just ones trying too hard like me.  On English and Reading I got a 36 out of 36 on the ACT’s.  I tried so hard to escape “Satan’s” grasp.  I never watched an R-rated movie, I didn’t know anybody that drank alcohol anyway but I would have defiantly turned that down.  My goal was Temple Marriage and the Celestial Kingdom, and this was the only thing holding me back.  I didn’t even date guys in high school, my first *real* boyfriend was when I was 18, and he turned out to be not so real anyway (long story)…

The harder I tried to not do it, the more I HAD to.  My ab muscles became tremendously strong.  I could do it all night.  The inner struggle was tremendous.  I had to constantly weigh the benefits of how good it felt versus how HORRIBLE I would feel afterwards.  That probably contributed to how long I could make it last…going until I fell asleep, exhausted…escaping that after-glow of impending doom.  I lived my life dreading that overwhelming feeling of guilt and shame that I carried with me on a daily basis.  It was always there.  And I felt so alone.  And worthless. 

Eventually, I did it less and less.  I learned to “master” my emotions.  I learned to mask anything that wasn’t “spiritually uplifting.”  I learned to be a good Mormon.  Any anger, frustration, questioning, confrontation, fear, loathing, hatred, arousal, desire…these are to be contained.  “Every member a missionary” was the mantra, and this was within Mormondom as well.  Not only must you preserve your own “testimony,” but it was imperative that you preserve other’s as well.  This meant that if you ever feel anything that didn’t directly contribute to the Mormon brand of *HAPPY!*–you keep it to yourself.  What if somebody else heard you, and their testimony was compromised because of YOU…that is something to be avoided at all costs.  I was even silenced on a big family website, told that my views could “contaminate” those who had “fragile” testimonies.  I was blocked from speaking my own voice, I could only go on and look at other’s “acceptable” ones.

So you learn.  You learn and you learn…and as you learn…you feel less and less.  Eventually you perform without even realizing it.  You forget what it’s even like to feel anything in the first place.  Any emotion besides *HAPPY!* is sinful….and must be repented of. ESPECIALLY anger.  Anger is a big No-No.  How do members of the church feel about feminists, or ex-Mormons?  Those people are *angry*.  This just proves to them the church is true, and they are wrong.  Because anger is wrong–and a sin.  So these dutiful Mormons stay away from these — legitimately– angry people.

Why am I bringing this up?  I *finally* met a girl in Philadelphia who is ex-Mormon, who left the church AND came out to her family quite recently.  We met on Saturday at noon and talked for 7 hours straight.  It was wonderful.  And she was wonderful.  I’ve talked on here about how Mormons don’t TALK about things, particularly on this post here.  I’ve also talked about sexual repression here.  But one thing I haven’t connected with is one step further- how Mormons don’t FEEL things and especially SEXUAL things.  We talked about drinking, and how it is only through drinking that we can feel sexually liberated.  We talked about how wrong it was to ever feel anger, how you learn to suppress it until you can’t feel anything at all.  She talked about how she can talk about anger now, she can say how it feels, but she can’t feel it.  And I talked about how my dad has written a book on Anger-directed at Mormons (after dealing with the East Coast in business and realizing how “suspicious” it is to deal with Utahns who are “too nice”)–and Deseret Book (the Utah Mormon publication) won’t publish it–and even THEN–MY anger isn’t legitimate because it contradicts the Church….(testimonies could be damaged)…

So here it is.  I’m ANGRY.  I am ANGRY that I can’t even identify my OWN anger– that I have to use somebody like Jon Stewart and his anger in my post here to show my own anger.  I’m angry that I have to drink to even say this.  I’m angry that I have to drink to FEEL anything.  I’m angry that I feel guilty about telling my therapist “Bad” things about the church.  I’m angry that I have this huge Stats test in 3 hours and I can’t even begin to think about ridiculous things like Probabilities when all I can think of is the Probability I’m going to hell.  I’m angry that my being attracted to women is going to be a huge *problem* to the very religion that INVENTED sexual deviancy in the United States–who FOUGHT and were PERSECUTED for their beliefs–and when I go to Utah I’m going to have to DEFEND myself in this ridiculous morality battle.  That my life and feelings will be torn apart and carefully inspected, looking for any loopholes in to how I feel, and any reasons for what’s “wrong” with me.  I’m angry for all the women who send me email, who say they have FIVE kids and NOTHING–who did everything they were supposed to do, all in the name of religion.  I’m furious at the system we were all duped into.  I’m angry when I read this article here saying that 60-70% of unmarried college students have sex, compared to 3-4% at BYU.  I’m angry because Mormon kids have to learn how to LIE.  I’m angry that Mormon kids have to learn how to SUPRESS their sexuality…and they learn so well that they can’t open it back up again, even when they’re married.  And that they turn into Mormon adults who don’t even realize how they lie and perform. I’m angry that the only time I’ve ever seriously contemplated suicide in my life is when I think how much EASIER that would be compared to facing my sexual shame–and everybody knowing.  And I’m angry that if I were to do that–it would be looked at as validation to the Mormons that clearly I didn’t have The Spirit with me anymore.  That Satan won.  Which in Mormon circular logic is why ALL gay Mormons are suicidal.  Not because of anything the Mormons ever taught them–that it is better to be in a body bag than to be gay.  Or that sexual sin is SECOND to murder.  Just because they have “given in” to Satan and his temptations.

But I can’t discount the fact that lately I FEEL better than I ever have before.  I feel like something in me has aligned itself.  That I’m on my true path, that I’m on my way to my calling-whatever it may be.  And my good friend John has told me that he takes comfort in the fact that anything he’s felt–somebody else has felt as well.  So he’s not alone, somebody out there has felt the same thing.  And I take comfort in that as well.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with my new friend when we meet again next week.  Perhaps we can read the Book of Mormon together, hahaha  ;)  For now, more crying.  But it feels so good to FEEL.  Thanks for listening, internet.

So I’m flying to Utah May 14th  and I forward my flight information to my 2 sisters there with the subject line saying “Get ready, bitches!”

Hahahah, joke’s on me…Tiffy PooPoo (I believe you’ve met?) immediately sends me this reply, along with a link: “Hey this is the 5K we’re doing on May 16, so make sure to go to the link and sign up if you want to donate you can I think i donated like 10 dollars.”

Ummm…okay…we’ll skip the formalities, such as who’s picking me up from the airport, where I’m staying that night…I’m pretty much just diving into this unknown cause.  So what is it? HAHAHAHA oh man…she should have sent ME the subject line “Get ready, bitch!”…. we are going to March for Babies.  I’m not kidding you.  And now that I think about it, as noisy as Philadelphia is–with all the people and traffic–it’s actually eerily silent.  Stores, libraries, Walmart…there aren’t masses of babies running around screaming their heads off with young flustered mothers frantically looking around to see who is watching while their kids turn into little piles of hot leaky messes.

I was looking for the right picture for this post, and I found this one.  The last time I was in Utah my (other) little sister and I decided to go “grab a bite” with 4 little boys under the age of 4-(try THAT one, college students everywhere else)….and here is what happens when she leaves to buy seconds (the kids were starving—who knew?)  One by one, they all decide to stand on their chairs.  And here’s me–left to watch them–taking pictures.  I thought it was great!  Who says we have to “sit down on our chairs” to eat, anyway?  You’re right, little boys!  Let’s unite and fight this chair oppression that befalls us.  And as I was unstrapping the 6 month old from his car seat to join our cause…there comes my sister around the corner.  APPARENTLY standing on chairs in a restaurant with a cement floor is a “safety issue.”  Whatever.

I still don’t know what the big deal is with the makeup party we had.  Doesn’t *everybody* look just a little bit cuter with blush?  I know–looking back, I can see that waterproof mascara wasn’t the BEST choice.  Especially on a Sunday morning.  Before church.  I thought it was a bonding experience.  They called it “sick and wrong.” Whatever.

SO…if anybody out there wants to donate to this worthy cause, click here.  I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the only 5k I’ve done where the joggers are actually outnumbered by the cause itself–I expect to be marching “amongst” the babies rather than for them.  In fact, I’m probably going to be nipped in the heels by a stroller or two–FOR 3.2 MILES.  At least with the Philly AIDS walk I didn’t have any patients running after me with hypodermic needles.

I love Utah.

So I have this friend, I’ll call her “Nicole”, and she is SO passionate about vaginas that she passes out literature on the street for them.  NO, not the “collector” girly playing cards they throw at you near the Strip in Las Vegas (which are always fun to re-distribute on BYU campus)…I’m talking about some really intriguing stuff, which I’d like to share with you today in her honor.  We had this woman ask us for money on the street in Philadelphia in the middle of the night because her boyfriend had left her there and we (Nicole) sent her off with some money and this article from the “Biting Beaver.”  I figure if it’s good enough for a crackhead on the street, it’s good enough for you.

It’s kind of long…but it is well worth it.  And besides, like all good missionaries, Nicole WILL FIND YOU.  Here it is:

SWORD OF POWER

I think many of us have experienced That Moment. That moment we think we see the light, that moment of Power. The first moment may have been the moment in Middle School, maybe High School for ‘late bloomers’ that moment when we wore a shorter skirt than we normally did to school and suddenly, the boys who previously ignored us, flocked to us.

Perhaps we had The Moment when we were in our boyfriend’s car necking on a Friday night when we were supposed to be at the movies. The Moment when he looked at you and you saw something on his face that was strange, alien. Before The Moment girls were something to be avoided by boys, we were perhaps picked on, teased for having ‘cooties’. We spent our days at school watching other girls being teased or getting their asses grabbed. Maybe we saw the young boys gather around a certain girl and cry out things like, “Itty Bitty Titty Committee!” or, maybe we saw them snapping the strap on her brand-new training bra. Maybe we had seen the boys, standing at the bottom of the stairwell, taking turns looking up the stairs at the girls who were wearing skirts. Perhaps we saw that the girl was, in effect, helpless. There was no recourse available to her. Maybe we even watched, horrified, when she went to a teacher and we saw the teacher pat her on the head and tell her, “Boys will be Boys. Just ignore them honey and they’ll stop”.

There was certainly A Moment that came before the moment in the car. The first Moment, the moment when we realized with shock and a little bit of horror, that boys could act in almost any way they wanted in regard to our girlfriends and come out of it unscathed, or with only a slight warning from a teacher. We saw the boys acting with impunity, maybe we watched them circle around our girl-friends and take turns touching her ass while she circled and tried to play it off like she was laughing and joking with them rather than being the proverbial butt of the joke. Nevertheless most girls realized, rather early on, that we were helpless in the face of the boys.

If you were like me you may have beat the shit out of them back in Elementary School, while you were still physically able to do so. But all of that changed in Middle School. When we came back to school after a summer of climbing trees and romping with our friends we saw that the boys were much bigger than we were. They were also more aggressive than we remembered as well as louder and more brazen. Soon, many of us knew which girls we should avoid, which ones brought the most amount of torment onto themselves by some mechanism which may still be elusive to us. We watched as they went to the teachers, telling them that so and so boy snapped their bra-strap, or so and so boy touched their butt or even dry-humped them on the playground. We watched as the teachers wearily pulled the young offender to the side and reprimanded him half-heartedly and we watched as the same group of boys teased the ‘tattle-tail’ relentlessly on the schoolyard. We watched and we had A Moment.

We realized that we were powerless. There was probably fear, the fear of having them zone in on you, the fear of finding the group of boys as we rounded a corner in the hallway. I think that, to varying degrees, women have gone through this all over the country. Our times in school were a time when we realized that we were not, and never could be, Just Another Person.

We probably watched the boys calling each other ‘Sissy’, the very term that our Mothers and Fathers called us, but they were using it derogatorily, they were using our pet-name as an insult. We probably heard them laughing at one another, telling the weaker boy that he “Threw like a girl”, but…but…We were girls! What was this? We probably heard them taunt another boy who was crying on the playground by saying something like, “Cry little girl! Cry!!” and we looked at ourselves and thought, “Is there something wrong with being a girl?”

But all that changed, didn’t it? During our first years in school we had The Moment when we realized we were powerless from all but the most heinous of teasing. We learned that having our asses grabbed and being tormented about our breast size or having our bra-straps pulled were part and parcel of our lot as girls. It probably happened slowly, insidiously, until we realized, maybe many years later, that boys made us feel powerless, weak, afraid, and maybe even ashamed. Later we found another Moment, a Moment in which we saw Power.

That Moment may have been in the passenger side of the car, maybe it was at your parents’ house when they were out for the evening. You may have been kissing your boyfriend and you opened your eyes and saw….something. Something so alien that it failed to register in your consciousness, but your lizard brain got it, your lizard brain speaks that language and recognized what you saw. Power. For that brief moment you looked at him and knew, somehow, that he would do whatever you wanted if you would let him touch your breasts, or let him give you a hickey or let him do whatever it was that he may have wanted to do.

The Boy, the ever-powerful boy was giving you Power. The same boy who tortured you in 3rd or 4th grade. The same boy who ruthlessly pulled bra-straps and led the gang of other boys to touch your friend’s ass while she was walking down the hallway. The same boy who grabbed your purse and rooted through it, looking for the tampon or maxi-pad that they knew was in there. The boy who then pulled it out and stuck it to the floor or the wall or who just played “Keep away” with it until you were almost in tears from embarrassment but were too afraid to cry. The girls didn’t help, they just watched, terrified of bringing that wrath down onto themselves if they said anything. The teacher only mildly scolded them and you most likely went away feeling ashamed for being so upset. That very same boy was now looking at you with a look of Submission. A look of Desire. Desire so fierce that you knew that Power, the only Power you may have ever been allowed, resided in that gaze.

This is the Second Moment in our lives. The Moment we note that our boyfriends bulging crotch and bulging eyes gave us Power. From there on out we tried our best to recapture that Power. We curled our hair, we slathered our faces with makeup, we wore short skirts and shirts that showed the beginnings of our cleavage. We jostled with the other girls, competing for The Power. This was a new thing to us, this Power. We thought that we finally had insight, that we finally understood. Our sex was powerful if we flaunted it.

From there on out we turned on our girlfriends, getting angry at the girl who wore the short skirt and who was surrounded by the troop of boys. We saw the looks in their eyes and knew that she had The Power. We called her whore and slut, because we thought that she had The Power. And she did, didn’t she? The boys didn’t torment her in the same way. Instead, they seemed to accept her, to want to be around her. She seemed to be safe as long as she kept them desiring her. When she was desired they treated her well, they didn’t snap her bra, they didn’t torment her ruthlessly, they seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be treating her kindly and with respect.

“So,” we thought, “That is where Power lies”. And we believed it. We jostled for position, trying to be the one that stood out above the others. We learned that Power lay in the hands of boys and men.

I did all of this and more. I sought that Power for most of my life. I turned myself into the proverbial sex-kitten, evoking and wielding That Power like a sword, brandishing my sex for all to see, watching the men go glassy-eyed and slack-jawed as I gyrated on the dance floor in some bar late at night. My Power, my sense of self, was utterly reliant on THEM. And it was in this that I found the paradox of my supposed Power.

It occurred to me at some point that the Power I wielded was only an illusion of Power. My Power was utterly and completely dependent on men. All those years I thought I held a large Sword of Power and suddenly, I realized that my sword was a gift, given to me by the men who wanted me to believe I had Power. The edges were dull and it could not cut, it could not wound in any real capacity and then it became clear. The Power in my sword was false and I saw the sword for what it really was, a cheap Made-in-Taiwan plastic imposter.

It slowly dawned on me that Power given from the Powerful to the weak based upon the weak’s ability to entertain the Powerful was not Power at all. In other words, the Power I thought I had was only there because I chose to submit to the people who held the Real Power. The Men. Men were the keepers of ‘Real Power’ and I had succumbed to the inherent bargain. That bargain was that I was allowed to feel Powerful if I acted in the way that they wanted me to. I was allowed to feel Powerful as long as I continued to make them feel more Powerful than me. Make no mistake about it, all my capering and dancing and wooing served to make them feel MORE Powerful than me. They had the Power of the King and I had the Power of the Court Jester, Powerful only as long as I kept the King entertained.

I looked around and realized that I had been jostling for the position of Court Jester and you know what? I got that title, I got it and I wore it, but I thought it was a different title.

As the years flew by and the men got older I had to do more and more to keep my title intact. At first, way back in those early years, I had only to wear a short skirt. Then, I had to let a boy put his hand up my shirt, then down my pants. Finally, I had to let him inside of me and even that wasn’t enough to keep The Power. Soon, I had to writhe and contort my body in an effort to keep The Power I had been given. I began to live and breathe for the pleasure of men. Delighting in the scraps of Power I was allowed to have. Later, I had to pretend that I liked anal sex, I had to pretend that the man I was with was pleasuring me greatly. I had to scream and gyrate, I had to succumb to being called names like ‘Whore’ and ‘Slut’ and pretend I enjoyed it. As the years dragged on I had to work harder to keep my plastic sword, I had to scream louder and act more sheepish, I had to dumb-myself down for I realized that few Men liked it when I was more intelligent than they.

The day I looked down and realized my sword was plastic I realized I had also been duped. That I had sold myself to be the Court Jester. I had become the Porn-star, I had become ‘Every Man’s Fantasy’ I had managed to become the ‘Object of Desire’. There was nothing you could do to me that was too degrading, nothing that was off-limits. I craved that look in their eyes like a Junkie jonesing for a fix. It was, after all, the only ‘real’ Power I had ever known. Every man who met me lusted after me, my boobs were presented in push-up bras like fruits to be picked. My hair was styled in the fashion of ‘Just had hot-monkey-sex’ look, my eyes were suitably sultry and my gaze was always poised to meet the gaze of a man from under my eyebrows. I had mastered the art of appearing submissive yet sultry and Men continued to put plastic swords in my hands. Every movement I made was for the sake of the men around me and I was skilled at the art of presenting my body in the best light possible. My back was arched, my shoulders were back, and my chin was slightly down. This was the existence I carved out for myself and you know what? It worked. It worked right up until I realized that I had been tricked.

I made a vow that day, I vowed that I would capture THEIR POWER. The Real Power. The Power of Independence, the Power of Intelligence, the Power of Success. Since then I have been labeled many things. I have been called “Frigid”, my beliefs have been teased as being “Renaissance”, I have been called and labeled a “Prude”, I’ve been accused of being a “Man Hater” of being “Rabid” and “Extreme”. Many times it feels as though I’ve landed back in the days of Middle School and that I have become the girl that seemed to bring chaos with them, the girl who was tormented ruthlessly. I think I know now what those girls did to anger the boys so much. They were Taking Power. They had, somehow, seen that the sword was plastic and they refused to play the games that the boys wanted them to play for Power. Instead, these girls had shown that they wanted the Real Power, the plastic sword wasn’t enough for them and god, how this angered the boys.

Now, when I see young girls and women displaying themselves for that Plastic Sword of Power, my heart goes out to them. When I see Porn stars on the screen I see in their hands, the Plastic Sword. When I see “Girls gone Wild” I see, held in one small hand, that almighty Plastic Sword. When young girls pass me on the street looking like Barbie dolls I look sadly at their hands and realize that they too are clutching that Sword. And I’ve found through the years, that women hold onto that sword as tightly as possible, it saddens me but I don’t get angry, I can’t get angry because they don’t realize that the Sword is plastic, they don’t realize that they’ve actually gotten the job of the Court Jester, they believe they’re a bona-fide member of The Court.

They cloak themselves in ‘Empowerment,’ but Empowerment based upon how well you can contort your body is not Empowerment. Empowerment based upon how practiced you are at screaming the scream of the fake orgasm is not Empowerment. Empowerment based upon molding your body and your mind to make Men Feel Power is not Empowerment. These are the trappings of Court Jester and the Power bestowed upon you is the Power given to you by the Truly Powerful.

I believe that we, as women, will only find the true Sword of Power when we remove the trappings of achieving the Plastic Sword of Power. I believe that we, as Women, will only be Powerful when boys no longer tease in Middle School. I believe that we, as Women, will only be Powerful when we are no longer raped for profit. I believe that we, as Women, will only be Powerful when we refuse to allow our bodies and our sex to be bought and sold as commodities.

~ Biting Beaver

It’s late, I’ve been studying all day….and I wish I could write something more enlightening but I am just a lady, with a simple lady mind.  Hahahah, I’ll let Sarah Haskins do it for me….

AND Happy Birthday to my dear friend John in New York who I’ve known since 1996- I call him John but now he goes by Philip….which is funny when I talk on and on about “John” to whoever is sitting on the bus with me to NYC, only to have him there waiting and introduce himself as “Philip”….hahahah….that look is priceless.  Really, I DO know this person!

I’m going to give you the link to his blog….now I know you’re thinking that I only put this here because he says wonderful things about me.  You’re absolutely right. 

Click here for the World of Philip John–and remember his name (both of them!) because he’s going to be famous one day, girl!  I am more than a simply lady today because of him.  Except when he makes me almost pee my pants laughing…not so lady-like.

I LOVE YOU JOHN!

One thing that always drove me *crazy* growing up in Utah was that I was expected to do all the cooking and cleaning, for the rest of my life,  just because I have a vagina.  That’s it.  For no other reason.  Because I truly believed in this–that being a wife and mother and cooking and cleaning were my sole purposes in life–if I was not able to either cook or clean I would suffer a supreme meltdown of ridiculous proportions.  Once I made a recipe that literally only had 3 ingredients–graham crackers, butter, peanut butter and powdered sugar.  Wait-that’s 4.  I’m not good at accounting either….anyway- I blew it.  I doubled the butter.  My boyfriend at the time had to witness my realization that I was *never* going to be able to get this down–and then WHAT?!  I am worthless.  As a woman, I am meaningless.  There is nothing else.  There is nothing else to expect from me.  If I can’t even do THIS simple thing, there is nothing.  And I am nothing.  I ended up sobbing on the kitchen floor in a hot mess.  He broke up with me soon after that.  Huh…I just realized those 2 may be related….

Kristin from Logan, Utah wrote me the following:

“Thank you so much for your blog.  I’m an ex-Utahn, ex-mormon also.  I don’t remember how many times throughout my life I was told I was selfish, etc. for wanting basic things out of life beyond mormon marriage and children, e.g., an education, a career, and heaven forbid, marriage as an equal partner.  I had ZERO validation from my family after earning a PhD, and a JD, becoming a partner in a law firm.  I never accomplished anything until I had a child.  - Makes me rage.”

She never accomplished anything until she had a child. 

But how much better is the rest of America…or the world?  This clip is hilarous but makes me sad.  And not just because my swiffer mop misses me.

So I went to the liquor store the other night with my adorable friend Maika from school, and she wanted to buy a “40″…which is one huge 40 ounce bottle of beer.  ONE bottle each.  The Mormon in me can’t deal with that sort of nonsense….we buy everything in bulk.  Mormons store, in their basements, enough food to last 1-2 years–in fact, in Utah houses are built with concrete foundations which holds this special room in the house.  So you have this concrete walled room that has huge “garbage can” containers full of wheat, barrels of water, hundreds of cans of food and  piles of toilet paper–well–imagine what you think a year’s supply of food and staples looks like for a family of 8…it’s a LOT.

When I buy mayonnaise…I buy the HUGE jar, the gallon size….it’s what you do!  A smaller size would be silly!  You must ALWAYS be prepared–there’s nothing worse than running out of something.  It just doesn’t happen.  Utahns laugh at Easterners that clean out the grocery store of milk and bread when a storm is coming.  Utah stores stay the same…Mormons are READY.

Which is why I insisted that we buy not two, but SIX bottles.  And it makes sense that we actually have a keg at our house.  My food supply has turned into a beer supply.  (Don’t worry mom–I do have a case of chili and mac and cheese in my basement).

I guess there are some things that will never leave me.  And if you know any Mormons who have left the church and insist in buying their alcohol in bulk, it’s not because they’re raging alcoholics.  Actually, they probably won’t say it out loud…..but they think you’re quite impractical.

According to a new Salt Lake tribune article (click here) - Utah has “the country’s highest rate of nonmedical painkiller abuse.” 

“Utah in 2007 recorded 317 deaths related to nonillicit drugs - double the number six years earlier and far more than died from heroin, cocaine and other infamous drugs.”

Here’s the beautiful thing, the reason why I want to make out with attorney general Mark Shurtleff:  he went there–oh yes he did…Here’s his quote:

“Mark Shurtleff on Wednesday attributed part of Utah’s problems to the Mormon culture, which discourages alcohol and illicit drugs but is more tolerant of prescriptions.  “In some societies, they have a problem and they self-medicate with alcohol,” said Shurtleff, who said he took painkillers during his long recovery from a 2007 motorcycle crash but was careful to use the medication properly and no longer uses it.

Shurtleff said Utah also suffers from a communication problem where people with problems and addictions do not want to discuss them.

“We are a pill-popping society,” Shurtleff said.

Actually the funniest thing about this is how he is careful to let you know that *his* painkillers are gone…Hahahah.  But he said this thing OUT LOUD, which is awesome.

One of the first things I noticed when I moved to Philadelphia from Utah was that my Weight Watcher meetings I was leading were, well, quite different than the ones in Utah.  I’ll never forget my first meeting….a woman raised her hand and said that she was having a hard time sticking to the plan because she was having a difficult time with her son being in jail.  WHAT?!?  Another leader brought her grandchild to work and told everybody in line that she was babysitting while her daughter was at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.  I think my jaw dropped…I didn’t even know what to say….You don’t just SAY STUFF like that in Utah, especially to a group of strangers and more especially to a group of women strangers.  The foremost thought in every Mormon’s mind is “WHAT WILL PEOPLE THINK”?  As a woman, the only thing that is expected of you is to be a mother, and you better be a darn good one because geez, if you can’t get even that simple thing right, what good are you?  The only way to measure if you are a good mother is by your children and how wonderfully Mormon they are, how strong they are in the Church, how many grandchildren they have faithfully reproduced for your shiny happy Temple-loving family.  So if your child actually has *gasp* problems….it’s best to keep that a secret.   Hence, going back to this post–(click here)– appearance is everything.  Again:  APPEARANCE IS EVERYTHING. 

And I would have never ever realized that if I hadn’t moved out and seen how the rest of the world operates.  Philadelphia is so REAL.  It’s filthy.  It’s dirty.  People are loud. People are mean.  People honk a lot.  People laugh really really loud.  People curse at each other on the street.  I LOVE IT.  It is absolutely raw….and profoundly refreshing.

Mormons feel that they are misconstrued in the media, they feel that they are misinterpreted and misunderstood.  In a lot of ways, they are.  But, to any Mormons out there–the way that you feel about bars and alcohol is ALSO misunderstood and misconstrued to YOU.  Most Mormons have never set foot in a bar, or even drank tea–let alone alcohol.  Here’s what you don’t understand:  Alcohol makes you talk.  Alcohol makes you talk FREELY.  So when people go to bars, they are not just going to get “wasted” and pass out in a pile of their own vomit….they are TALKING.  They are opening up to each other.  They are freely discussing their problems, their lives, what’s going on…a bar can be a sort of therapy session.  Of course there are people who drink too much, there are some that go overboard, but my heck, Utah–NUMBER ONE IN THE NATION FOR PRESCRIPTION PAINKILLERS?  You want to talk about abuse?  Of course you don’t.  Because then you’d have to talk about what’s REALLY going on.  And nobody wants that.  You aren’t even allowed to talk about the Temple, the very heart of your religion– if you happen to feel a little *uncomfortable* with the rituals and how truly unprepared you are for what goes on there.  You can’t even talk about it amongst each other.

It is so hard to have a therapist and tell her stuff.  It’s hard but I LOVE it–and she’s AWESOME.  “Okay, Crystal….so….answer the damn question.”  Hahaha she doesn’t say it that way but she only lets me skirt around things for so long.  It is hard to talk about my feelings, especially the “forbidden” ones.  And I even came from a family of people who DO talk about things more freely than most–my mom is great for that.  But the Mormon wall comes in, and there’s just a lot of things that are off-limits.  So Mormons have no outlets.  They are bottled up inside….the pressure is building….and “self-medicating with alcohol” is something that Mormon’s look down on you “others” for doing.  Being dependent on alcohol is a horrifying thought to a Mormon.  But Pain pills…a tiny pill you can take that TAKES AWAY THE PAIN- and you can keep up appearances?  Bravo. Pain pills make you smile.  And that’s what everybody wants to see.  

So Utah is creating a new task force to deal with this problem.  Doctors will be forced to prescribe less pain pills….so my question is…what are Mormons going to do?  Considering the abnormally high suicide rate…I am genuinely concerned for these people.  317 non-illicit drug deaths in 2007…DOUBLE the number of 6 years ago?  This pressure is growing stronger and more intense, especially with bankruptcies, foreclosures, and large families to support on one diminishing income–and if you take away Mormon’s only “legal” outlet, what’s going to happen?

I’m afraid.

So, Mr-I-don’t-have-any-pain-pills-at-my-house Mark Shurtleff, I commend you for taking that ONE step forward, for acknowledging the Mormon influence in this hot mess…because I’m sure you are going to get a lot of crap for it. 

If there’s one thing Mormons DO talk about, it’s about how NOT OPPRESSED they are.  Excuse me, it’s time for my yellow pill.

<This is one of my best friends, John, who I’ve known since 1996….taken in NYC…I consider him to be my favorite drug :)  >

Licking the camera from Crystal Evans on Vimeo.

This video makes me laugh, everytime.  Bejus would make such a cute dad, for somebody….someday….

When you see a hairless dog all the time you forget how dang funny they look

SO…..if anybody’s reading this….my little sister Tiffany (I call her Tiffy Poo-Poo) responded with a comment to this post.  Now I’m not going to lie to ya–I drive my family crazy sometimes because of this.  And Tiffany is one of my favorites (I’m the oldest of 6) because this girl is not afraid to speak her mind to me, which I LOVE.  So, I’m responding in a post because I think it shows the complexities and dynamics of family members who leave–or try to leave–the Church, and besides- I have much better answers now than I did a year ago.  So, ummm……hi, internet!  Welcome to the family! Here we go.

Tiff : “Ummm what house did you grow up in. Yeah my mother had lots of kids because she wanted to and guess what I wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to. My parents lived off of welfare for a while but made it on their own and know how to manage money very well. They never went bankrupt. They had 6 six kids and learned how to manage money but you have 0 kids and still can’t fathum how to manage money.”

Me: I am the oldest, Tiff is the fourth.  We did grow up quite differently.  I actually wasn’t trying to talk personally about MY economic situation growing up, but more of a general Utah/Mormon thing–which is why I quote Utah/Mormon articles rather than, like, my diary.  But with that being said, my parents did what was expected of them and they had kids in college.  So I remember the lean years whereas Tiff was around more when they were established. 

And yes, my mom did want all of us….although between you and me, I could have done without one or two-  hahaha, just kidding!  We actually do have a great time together.  Now this line is significant :”They had 6 six kids and learned how to manage money but you have 0 kids and still can’t fathum how to manage money.”  And Tiffany–now I can see what the problem is with me, and my lack of money…. and what is so different out here that you don’t understand.  I got married at 21, BJ was 20.  College isn’t nearly as big of a deal out there, BJ was the first to graduate in his family.  We both worked in Salt Lake for a couple of years before deciding to go to school.  We went down to Southern Utah University in Cedar City, Utah.  If anybody’s been to Zion’s National Park, or driven from Salt Lake City to Las Vegas, Cedar City is a small town inbetween.  Every time I would drive through there, I would say “HOW could anybody live here?  There are NO JOBS.”  Well, it turned out, I was right.  BJ had done a year there before, so we decided for him to finish up there.  I made a stack of resumes and went door to door down the main streets.  Nobody was hiring, and I ended up at a call center making nearly minimum wage.  Because we had made “too much” in Salt Lake the previous year, we didn’t qualify for any grants and paid for school ourselves, me supporting BJ through school.  We did a lot of things to get by, and we didn’t qualify for a grant the second year either (from Salt Lake $).  It was HARD.  I worked the call center, temp jobs, we had a business cleaning theaters…we scrambled but WE MADE IT.  Other married couples came from SL, and left because they just couldn’t afford it. One pawned their car radio for gas $$ to get home.  It was during this time that everybody was telling us to have kids, to help us out financially.  When you have a child in college, the state pays for it and you qualify for more things.  I felt uncomfortable with having kids when I couldn’t afford it on my own.  I got a lot of crap for that.  “If you wait until you can AFFORD it, then you NEVER will.”  So yeah, we didn’t have extra money to kick around.  But here’s what was said to us about it:  We didn’t have money because of our LIFESTYLE.  Because we drank.  Because we didn’t go to church.  In fact… there was one who was very vocal about this–you know who I’m talking about, Tiff–who said that was our “problem”–and if we only went to church and were more righteous we would learn to budget our money “properly” (meaning no alcohol, coffee, etc.) THAT was the reason.  (Incidentally–this person is in his 20’s, 3 kids…and now has $150,000 just in credit card debt alone. Yes, he goes to church. And yes, the big “B” is looming).  And I’m not angry at this person for thinking or saying so…that’s the belief that is reinforced in the culture, one that I truly believed in myself.  So I have been looked down upon all these years and I have felt bad about this and I took it to heart….I believed you all.  But guess what?

THAT WASN’T IT.  Tiff, do you realize that out here nobody is expected to get married in college…let alone start a family?  People here don’t have as many kids, and they PAY for their children to go to college.  They PAY for their children to live in dorms.  They PAY for their meal plans.  They BUY them cars, to get by. (Strictly speaking of members of my race/class).  And they expect them to graduate–even Grad school!  EVEN girls!!!  Tiffany, you are 25 years old and you have been married for 4 years and have a child….this is not typical out here.  And nobody is freaking out about it.  Walk around BYU campus and you hear 19 year old girls crying that they are almost 20 and not married–lamenting that they are “so old.”  Tiff- do you know how refreshing it is to hear somebody say-”I can’t be in a relationship right now–I’m ONLY 22!”  WHAT?!?  So when you all were feeling sorry for us not having money and blaming it on our sins–NOW I can see how amazing it was that we were able to do what we did, with such limited resources and NOT depending on the state or church welfare.  We did have a couple of “angels” help us out once when our fridge had defrosted and we had no food or extra $$ to replenish it–even without me paying tithing!  And you and other family helped.  So, yeah, we spent money on alcohol–not even at bars, just the cheapest crap you could find.  But can you SEE….that wasn’t the problem.  And out here everybody drinks.  It’s such a part of the college experience–we have this “Spring Fling” which is basically all the clubs get together and there’s booths and vendors and everybody starts drinking at 10 am and skip all their classes and it’s a big party.  HUH?  Tiff, have you ever HEARD of this before?  It’s like in the movies!  PG13 movies, of course….

And then after BJ graduated we decided to move to Philadelphia–bustin’ out of Utah in our little Honda Civic and whatever we could fit in it.  Coming straight out of school, I borrowed money from mom and dad.  We moved into an empty apartment and every dollar we earned had to go towards basic necessities–silverware, soap, towels, dishes–as well as paying the parents back.  I repaid them, then as we were just about to get ahead I decided it was MY TIME to go to school, and BJ supports me.  So yeah…you can look at it as I can’t “manage” money….or that under the circumstances we’re doing pretty damn well.  Most of the clothes I wear were given to me, my bed used to belong to an 8 year old boy, my silverware was $6 bucks from Ikea, my LoveSac is from my brother, we found a TV on the street and another was given to us (people have a lot of extra tvs, btw)–our biggest *splurge* thus far is a $300 kitchen table from Target.  And again, we’ve had help–my boss from Weight Watchers has been like a mother to us out here, and I really would have no clothes or shoes if she hadn’t given me her extras.  I have paid no tithing, I still drink coffee and alcohol–but I’ve had many blessings.  So here we are, back in school, paying for it ourselves (I didn’t qualify for a grant because I registered too late in the year) –hardly any extra money–but we’re doing the best we can under the circumstances.  Which is all I could expect of somebody with 6 kids, as well.  Supporting all of them is unreasonable.  That’s why I’m looking at the SYSTEM, and not just my parents.

And frankly, I’m angry that I got married so young.  Well, that’s not true.  I’m not angry that I got married so young, I’m angry that I (and the culture) thought I was SO OLD when I did it.  That when I turned 21 my other option was a mission (because I wasn’t married yet)–even though I wasn’t even going to church.  Or that when I got married everybody breathed a sigh of relief.  I would not take back the last 10 years of my life- for anything….I just think that nobody is really ready at that age.  And young couples are unknowingly being used, entwining themselves with the church forever.

 Tiff: “Our mother was a great mother in “mormon standards” she was at home made dinner, nutured all her kids. But she also made big on the “outside world” she was an avide sports fan and loved to play racket ball, she was an avid volunteer for groups that didnt’ involve mormons or church, She held her own partys inlo of her husband who hated parties. So to you I say women don’t sit around like a cardboard cut out in their homes doing what the “white man” tells them. If anything I think its the oppisite. Women are telling their husband whats going on what activities their going to do tonight . Women are making time for themselfves to fullfil their creatvitiy and imagination and knowlege.”

Me: Yes, I absolutely agree with all of this about mom–and I can see I never made that clear.  In fact, mom was a great mother, she did sacrifice a LOT to be one.  She dropped out of college to have us.  She volunteered and is an amazing organizer and planner, she has always exercised and is stronger than probably all of us.  But even she will tell you that isn’t “normal”?  She made an extra effort to be involved in the community outside of church and to take time for herself.  She was a great example.  In fact, the Mormon church gives women many responsibilities–and leadership roles as well.  (Lots of responsibility, no authority).  These women could run a company like nobody’s business.  Technically, I guess, they do.  My problem with that is that they are working these jobs for FREE.  And sacrificing their entire lives to build up this organization.  I guess if anything, it’s good experience.  Only not something you can put on a resume.  I’m just sayin’.

Tiff: “I’m going to school so that I can have a great career and that I can fulfil myself by helping others in social work. I make quilts with my husband, I paint with my son, I volunteer out side of church duties. I have a Kid (GASP) what the hell is so wrong with kids?? side note i HAVE NEVER FELT PRESSURED OR PUSHED IN TO HAVING KIDS. I have one kid and thats fine with me for now. I’ve never been told that I need to have more kids. There really is nothing in this world that is more selfless and that fulfills you as much as taking care of a child and teaching him about life and love and teaching him to be him selves and to listen to his voice inside and fulfil his own destiney. To experience life with him and be childlike with him. I can’t wait to watch him grow up and and be a valuable part of society.”

Me: That’s great to hear you are going to school!  Starting in the fall? Yahoo!  And I don’t have any problems with the kids that are born–your little guy is ADORABLE.  I love him to death and I always will.  And your big guy too!  How many Mormon men help their wives make quilts?  He is one of my favorites.  And I love all my little sisters kids.  Maybe you forgot that part of your temple wedding–that little commandment to “Multiply and Replenish the Earth”? Or really any of your Young Woman/Sunday School/General Conference/Relief Society meetings that deal with motherhood…and motherhood only.  I also wonder (I could be wrong here…tell me what you think)  how much more pressure you would be receiving if your husband was at church with you every Sunday?  My point is (for all Utah–not you)….why so fast?  Why so young?  Why not….wait?  Even just 4 years?  That’s all I’m asking for.  What is that going to hurt?  Get through college, then have kids when you have a career, when you can afford it?  I know this is a radical concept to you, and everyone out there, Tiff–but people here do it all the time.  And when you emphasize the self-lessness of having children, you are implying the selfishness of not having children.  I am not selfish for choosing to not have children right now.  That’s another repeated theme for the last 10 years.  There is nothing wrong with me wanting to wait until I’m ready.

Tiff: “I don’t fill like i’m a mouth and a vagina and thats all i need to be. thats the most degrading thing I’ve ever heard.”

Me:  I know, I was shocked myself when I said it.  Hey, if you ever see a link for a clip called “Two Girls, One Cup”–DO NOT CLICK ON IT.  It is not a video about learning to share.  Or at least, not anything you would want to share.  Wow. Moving on.

Tiff: ”If you feel that you are or you should be then i’m sorry you feel that way, truly sorry. Last point, you know The Secret when they talk about how you shouldn’t be against a cause but for a cause. So instead of “anti war” you should be “pro peace”. Well how can someone who thinks a whole state(utah) is one big fars and the LDS religion is all about money and surpressing women and all this negative crap yet you let it CONSUME you.”

Me:  This is fair.  This is one thing about leaving the LDS religion–it’s so much More than a religion, it’s not even funny.  It is very hard to re-wire your brain to think differently.  This is one thing that Mormons (I used to) use as another “proof” that that the church is true:  when people leave they can’t really “leave.”  This is why there are many people who don’t have testimonies of the church but stay in it.  It’s a long, hard path out.  Most are atheist, or agnostic at the end, or they go back because they don’t know what else to do–or it’s just easier.  Especially in Utah, you lose all kinds of networking contacts, family may dis-own you, your whole life is basically turned inside out.  In fact–I wouldn’t leave the church unless you were really really really serious about it.  Mormons are taught that people leave because they want to do a sinful behavior, so they do the behavior and then make up other reasons.  It’s not that simple, but it’s a good story.  I believed it.  They also believe that when you leave, (or are excommunicated) your countenance changes and you actually appear “darker.”  I like to say I’m just “tan”….hahahah.  ACTUALLY that is the most ironic thing, is this past few months I’ve had more people just randomly say how much lighter I look.  Weird.

And I LOVE the comment by Huatusca regarding the Church’s anti-gay-marriage stance and support.  Why didn’t they put all their effort on strengthening families instead?  That is an excellent point. 

Tiff: The website is supposed to be about positive things like sexy, healthy, wealthy it suggest pro peace inside of you. however its all about the LDS faith and how ridiculous and manipulative and stupid it is. Its all you talk about its all you think about, I don’t get it. So being sexy healthy and wealthy means i should hate the LDS religion.”

Me:  Actually when I bought this domain name, I intended to do something related to weight loss, since that is my background.  Then I started blogging about my thoughts, or discoveries….and so I can see how it might look like (to you) being sexy healthy wealthy means you should hate the LDS religion, but I prefer to speak the truth of it.  I’m just trying to figure out and analyze economic and/or oppressive systems and see how they function.  This just happens to be the only one I know of.  I’m sure I’ll move on to other things, I just type it as it comes to me. 

Tiff: “For someone who dispisses something so much you sure are giving it a lot of power over you. Which is sad because your all about empowering your self but yet you seem to be so lost in the LDS faith and in trying to disprove it rather then finding your self which is what your all about.”

Me: Sigh. Unfortunately it is such a big part of me–and especially moving to Philly and people asking me Utah/Mormon questions every day.  If I took out this part of me….I wouldn’t have anything to say regarding the last 30 years of my life.  But I really feel like I’ve now been given this tool to look at and question all systems, which is a good thing.  I know, Tiffy Poo Poo, radical concept.  It is very strange to not know what to think, when everything’s been laid out for you before.  I don’t know what’s real?  But I intend to find it.  Or at least the things that make me happy, my true authentic self and not playing a role, or pretending.

Tiff: “Crystal all i can say is you do have some good points I agree”

Me: THANKS!  Which ones, now?

Tiff: “ but that is where my free agency comes in I choice to listen to somethings and I choice to not listen and listen to myself when it comes to religion. I have choice I have not followed the religion to a “T”. I never once was told I had to date a RM and I never did. I was told not to have sex but I made a choice and did rebel but i was not outcast or punished. I have chosen everything I do in my life, I’m not dictated by “white Man”. I don’t follow blindy and you shouldn’t have either. So am I a latter day saint who does have agency who does have the spirit, which everyone does have. I believe somethings are true in my faith and other things I question but thats ok i’m not banned or deemed evil for my questions and for anyone who was i’m sorry.”

ME:  Okay, for the record—YOU WENT THERE.  I wasn’t going to use personal stuff on this blog, but you are a prime example of this, Tiff.  You didn’t see all the comments I received on this from a Woman’s Ex-LDS yahoo group, but one in particular was cool (well they all are–it’s nice knowing I’m not alone):

Valerie: “I was commenting about choice in the class and there was a High Priest who kept going on about how fortunate we were to have the right to choose.. and I wanted him to clarify what choice actually meant from the point of view of the church… and I said, “Well do you think that we have the freedom of choice to actually choose the wrong?”  and he paused and looked at me… mumbled a bit… didn’t know what to say…and I said, “Well I think you mean that we have freedom of choice BUT we actually don’t have the freedom to choose wrong if we are in the church.”  And he said, “Well… hmmm…. yes…. that’s it…. your right.”     Quiet in the classroom……. I laughed….. that was many years ago…. “

Me: So, Tiff–let’s be honest here.  Yes, you “made a choice” to start having sex.  How old were you, again…15?  And what was that you said when we asked you about it?  You flat out lied.  You lied.  Your sisters sat you down and said, Okay, Tiff, you can tell US.  We won’t tell ANYBODY.  You can trust us.  But did you?  NO.  Why?  What were you afraid of?  Being “outcast, punished, banned, or deemed evil?”  Because those were your options, weren’t they?  While the rest of us were getting in trouble just for coming home late (and not doing drugs, alcohol, or sex)…YOU knew how to play the game.  Your curfew was at 11, and you would skate in at 10:45.  There were years of your life that you performed, Tiffany, BE REAL.  You HAD to.  You had to play the part of the Molly Mormon, knowing full well that you had a secret.  Somehow you never got pregnant (?) or any diseases (?) because you didn’t believe in condoms.  You know what happens to those who tell, in their bishop interviews.  BJ was dis-fellowshipped for being honest in high school.  He couldn’t take the sacrament, sing in the ward choir, or graduate from seminary.  And everybody knows.  You can’t even hide your shame.  Our cousin (girl) was ex-communicated for living with her boyfriend–even though they weren’t having sex, it was the appearance of it that got her.  Ex-communication is a spiritual execution–and who is in charge of all that?  You would have had to tell not just ONE white male, but a few of them…in explicit detail, mind you….of exactly what, who, and where.  So yeah, you had a choice.  And you wisely chose to protect yourself.  And I don’t blame you one bit, Tiff.  That’s not what this is about.  I question the SYSTEM.

Another thing is you are taught that to have sex is “rebelling”….I’ve found that out here they call that “normal.”  My therapist says that in school they were actually given bananas and condoms and taught how to put them on….hahaha can you imagine?  Just a picture of a condom on a banana at Southern Utah University newspaper threw the whole school in a tizzy fit for a year.  I think the collective conservative business department’s head exploded (without a condom)(they just don’t know how dangerous that is). 

One last thing on this–your hubby was going to get baptized, you couldn’t wait that long, so ya’ll got married to have sex (of course you would have been married anyway–just maybe not as quickly?)(And I’m glad you did–love that guy!) …which is nothing shocking or extreme or unusual out there.  Everybody does that.  How else are you going to have sex?  What’s the point in being engaged longer than 3 months after you’ve just met?  It’s such a different world.  The point is - yes, you have the freedom to choose the right.

Tiff: “I love you sis i just think you should find your self with out religion and be “Pro Peace”.”

Me:  Love you too, and I like the Pro-Truth idea (Thanks Huatusca).  Because I feel free- and strangely enough, more peaceful than ever. 

Thanks, Tiffy Poo Poo…..tell your little guy hi for me.  He kind of reminds me of this kid:

 <this old pic is just a few of our siblings….we like to squish each other for some reason…good times…>