Saturday, February 27, 2010

Hard Stuff

There were a lot of hard things about serving a two year mission. Some things were harder than others. I didn't have a hard time living on a small budget. Fellow Elders would cut my hair most of the time (unless there was a salon nearby with cute hair dressers), so I seldom spent money on haircuts. We were fed dinner (tea) by members of the church most of the time so we rarely had to purchase dinner items. I got used to eating cereal with boxed milk (Seriously. Boxed milk.) for breakfast most mornings and beans on toast for most lunches. Not bad at all.

I'll tell you what the hardest part of serving a mission was. Are you ready? Serving with crappy companions. Oh my goodness it sucked so bad. Usually, in Dublin, it's typical for an Elder to stay in one area for 2-5 months, with the average being 3 or 4. For example, an Elder transfers to an area and gets placed with another Elder who has already been in the area for a month or two. The missionaries serve together for another month or two and then the missionary who's been there the longest transfers out and a new missionary replaces him. That's typically how it works, but there are exceptions all the time. I was one of the missionaries who transferred around more frequently than other missionaries. At the time, I remember being told by other Elders, "Oh, you're the missionary who gets along with everyone so Prez keeps putting you with Elders who have had previous personality conflicts." I was flattered until the last month or two of my mission when my companion said, "Oh, you're the missionary that everyone struggles to work with so you keep getting moved around." Uh... wait. Really? Maybe... but I really doubt that was the case. I only hated one of my companions.

Sometimes I complained about my companion. Occasionally when I would tell another missionary that I struggled with my comp, they'd reply with something like, "Well, a mission is kind of like a marriage, Elder. If you can't get along with a companion for a couple of months how do you expect to get along with your spouse for all eternity? You need to learn patience and understanding so you can use those same qualities to strengthen your marriage when the time comes."

The first few time I received this advice, I thought, "Oh, man. That's so true. I need to try harder to prayerfully seek the Spirit in this companionship." Until one day, I realized something. I get to PICK my wife. The mission president doesn't assign her to me. Hello? Putting up with a companion using my towel or not rinsing his whisker juice out of the sink after shaving is nothing like having a wife. Plus there's no sex to cancel out the disagreements with my companion (at least there's not supposed to be). When I marry someone, I get to do stuff to her. When I fought with my companion, the best I could hope for was sharing Ramen. Not the same... unless we're talking about 9 1/2 Weeks or something... and I'm not.


Friday, February 26, 2010

Don't be such a weiner, Aaron

As mentioned in a previous post, my roommates and I are planning on buying our house. We entered into a contract that I am pretty sure is legally binding. About a month ago when we decided to do this, we were all sitting in the living room chatting about the benefits of home ownership. Nick and Lance immediately discounted it as crazy talk and went off to play with themselves or sommit.

Aaron, Calvin, and I excitedly entertained the possibilities that lay before us with a can-do attitude and fervor that would make the Hoosiers look like no account potheads. Within a mere couple of days we had negotiated a price with our landlord and been pre-approved for a mortgage loan. The three of us even pooled together a whopping $1000 to put down as earnest money ($622 of our $700 worth from our t-shirt endeavor, but don't tell Aaron).

I'm not certain how Calvin and Aaron approached their parents with the venture. My parents and I have a very open relationship due mostly to silly adventures where they had to bail me out of jail for toilet papering or egging a Bishopric members house or local school or passing cars or some such mischief. So I happily exclaimed my excitement to my parents over Sunday dinner.

They were not too happy. My dad suggested that someone who was recently booted from school and had no clear career path or experience owning a home would be unwise to embark on such an adventure. He furthered his case by pointing out that going into business with friends of any tenure can be strenuous and taxing, and he said "...let alone a friend that I have only had for the last year, 2 months of which we were separated by 40 states, New Foundland, and the Atlantic Ocean". Oh, Dad.

We talked about it for some time. My mom thinks it's a completely idiotic idea. I pointed out the financial upside of renting the rooms out and even demonstrated how we could very practically have our entire mortgage paid for by the other renters. I also suggested that Calvin and I found each other after only being separated in the Pre-Earth life by birth. He gave up at that point.

I fully appreciate my parents advice. My stance, however, is that there are these big "could"'s involved and my parents are on one side while I am on the other. The furnace could go out. The house could be hard to rent. Calvin, Aaron, and I could fail, fight, and hate each other. That's how my parents are looking at it. From where I'm standing. It could be a learning experience that will shape my future and be far more significant than school. It could make us enough profit to cut down our expense and make us money. It could strengthen our friendship to a degree that the Lord needs it to be for me, Calvin, or Aaron to become one of the Twelve Apostles or something.

My parents are on board and supporting me, with fingers crossed and arms folded. Calvin's parents are backing him, too. Of course, Aaron told his mom and now he's trying to back out.

He's not "trying". He's out. Aaron is a momma's boy. He's an only child, and his mom spoils him something fierce. We are supposed to close on this house in a few days. Aaron comes into Calvin and my room and says, "Hey guys... do you think you could get me my $300 back?" We looked at each other and Calvin said, "Are you out?" Aaron said, "Yeah, it's a bad idea... what with the economy and all."

I said, "Really Aaron, what is with the economy and all?" He looked at me and said, "You know what I'm talking about, dude. The economy is bad." I replied, "Uh, yeah I hear that on the news, but the three of us have jobs. The economy doesn't seem any different to us than it ever did." Aaron got his stubborn face on, "Whatev, dude, I'm not doing it. I don't feel good about it." I was getting mad, "Just because Calvin uses the 'Spirit' to dump chicks, doesn't mean it's gonna fly here. We're supposed to close in a few days, and now... now you bail?" Aaron doesn't like confrontation, especially when he knows Calvin and I will soon start to tag team him with insults and mockery.

Aaron started walking out and said, "You guys owe me $300. I need it." I said, "Well, we'll just have to owe you then." Aaron, "You'll need to pay." I said, "Yeah, eventually, and it's $299, cause I got you that Frosty yesterday." Aaron looked at me like he wanted to punch me. He never would, and I would never punch him back. That's when Calvin said, "You can use it as your first months rent when we own this place." I laughed mockingly, "Yeah, dude, first months rent, security deposit, pet deposit, cleaning deposit." He walked out of the room.

So, a little bump in the road on getting the house. Hopefully when we talk to our mortgage guy we can still do it. He said in the beginning that two of us should be able to buy it, but Aaron does have the best credit score of the three of us so we'll see.

Later I apologized to Aaron, and told him that I was just mad. I tried to talk him into buying still and told him how much we wanted him to be a part of this. That's when he admitted that his mom basically forbade it, and that he just wouldn't be doing it with us.

Hopefully all my hair-brained schemes aren't this hard. At least my best good friend Calvin's with me. I love him. ...and you thought that Pre-Earth life thing earlier was a joke didn't you?


Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Post Mission Counsel

I wouldn't say I'm "excited" to get married, necessarily, but I know it's coming. I'm only 22 and I know I'm young, but my mission president had pretty great advice. During my last interview with him, he told me that the "full-time" mission chapter of my life is now complete and the next chapter should be marriage. (I realize this counsel is the type of thing that gets Mormons made fun of by non-Mormons, but when you receive this advice in the context in which it's meant and you have a firm belief of what the purpose of our existence on this earth is, then no other counsel makes sense.) He told me to start my search for my Eternal Companion. He also told me to further my education so that I could be in a position to provide for my family. He also counseled me to not put off marriage. He said a lot of people purposely wait to marry or wait to start a family for fear they're not in a position financially to take that next step. Then he said that everyone's situation is different, of course, but that the Lord has commanded us to raise and lead a family in righteousness and promised that the Lord would provide for me and my family if I trusted Him.

I don't know if he memorized this lecture and spouted it off to every missionary preparing to go home, but I'd like to think he changed it based on each individual missionary. Either way, though, I listened and absorbed his counsel. I just don't know what to do or how to feel about it. I don't know how fast I'm supposed to move. I don't know how long I should date a woman before I "give up". I don't know what should be the most important thing in my relationship with my spouse. I don't know a lot of things. I also know that there are a lot of married people who read this blog. I know that many of you will be tempted to respond to my statements of ignorance, but, like my mission president said, every situation is different. What love means to you, might not mean the same to someone else. One of you may have known right away that you were meant to be, while someone else may have dated and broken up a dozen times before finally realizing they should be married. Some of you may define "love" as never going to bed angry while someone else may say it's better to talk things out when you're rested and not so irritable. What works for you may not work for everyone.

Some of you are probably tempted to say, "Just pray about it and God will tell you." Well, I do. But I don't want to pray about every single girl I have contact with. Isn't that like asking God what color shirt I should wear? I just don't think I should have to ask God about every single girl. That's why he blessed me with a brain (you're welcome, haters, for the insult setup) and I think He expects me to make decisions on my own using the knowledge that I've acquired through my own life experiences.

"Blah blah blah. Who cares, Calvin? I'm bored. Make fun of someone else or tell a funny story about a girl!" Sorry, everyone. Sometimes it doesn't work that way. If this blog is about being honest, then that's what I'm going to do. If you're too young and immature to appreciate being let behind the curtain, then feel free to skip this post. Actually, I'm almost done with this post... so if you've made it this far then it's probably too late to skip it. I guess if you're really retarded, you could actually have stopped reading when I typed "skip this post" two lines up, but that would mean that you're really only skipping a few sentences. You might have been tempted to just stop reading, but then you'd have thought, "Well... I'm almost done now. I'll just finish so that I can at least tell Calvin I read the whole thing and then I can comment and say how boring it was." And now, here you are. Still reading. Now you're probably thinking, "How long is he going to talk about the fact that I'm still reading this post?" or maybe you're thinking "I'm gonna be pissed if he spends the next paragraph talking about what we all might be thinking."

When a commercial comes on the radio that says, "If you don't wanna save money every single month, then change the station right now." I always change it as fast as I can. I'm not sure why. It's probably because I know the creators of the commercial figure that nobody, in their right mind, would actually change the station after a statement like that. But I do. I've thought about writing them a letter telling them that I change the station when I hear their commercial DARING me to... but that would mean I'd have to sit through the commercial to listen for what it's a commercial for... and then my letter would be one giant contradiction.


Monday, February 22, 2010


One thing that isn't said enough in our Church, is how much fun missions are! Yeah, yeah, yeah, we always hear about the work and the growth and the wearing down of Doc Martins and the reward of bring souls to Christ. For some reason, though, the incredible amount of fun that can be had on a mission is downplayed or overlooked. Maybe people are afraid of saying something or telling some story that is unbecoming a missionary. Maybe? I don't know. I just know that not one person told me before I went that I was going to have the time of my life.

And, no... the hundreds of returned missionaries I heard during my adolescence saying, "It was the best two years of my life", (followed by the 'one uppers' who feel it necessary to clarify that it was, "Two of the best years." or "The best two years, so far") does not constitute describing the mission as a "good time". I honestly went out thinking that it was going to be all work and no play.

Common sense does scream that there would be boundless opportunity for fun on LDS missions simply because of the high concentration of 19-21 year old boys. Really how long can 20 year old males go with out cracking some jokes or getting into some mischief? Don't simply assign the word "mischief" to disobedience either. I am talking about good, clean fun.

Examples of this could fill the the pages of a million blogs. My mission was fun. I laughed everyday. We worked hard... sure. But we played constantly too. (sigh)

I bring this up because something happened today that (I think) is a direct result of some mischief I engaged in on my mission. First I should tell you that I served with a Danish Elder who loved pranks. Loved them. He went home while I was in my first month, but he passed a legacy prank onto me that I used to the fullest of my ability and then passed on when I left.

WARNING: if you are not a male between the age of 13-30 you may not find the following paragraph funny, entertaining, or of any merit. In fact you may find it disgusting and wish all manner of plagues upon me.

The prank went as follows: We would buy a can of Pringles. Luckily, once you pop a can of Pringles you can't stop and the potato chips would be consumed leaving a sturdy tube that could be perfect for shipping certain items to friends or loved ones. Then one of us (or both of us, if the serendipitous occurs and we both have to go) carefully poops into the empty Pringle can. It is a good idea to spray a little bit of water with a mist sprayer to keep it just a bit moist. The can is then sealed and wrapped in a thick layer of packing paper. We would then fake our best girl hand writing and address it to one of our mission buddies. It is important to send it to someone you know and love as you will be more likely to hear his/her account of opening the special present, which is far more fun than just imagining the experience.

In Ireland they refer to mail as "post", we called these Pringle packages (guaranteed to brighten even the the sourest of sourpusses days), "poost." The post in Ireland puts our mail system here to shame. Regular mail would get our poost to it's destination the next day. Which would ensure the contents freshness.

Listening to missionaries explain how they opened the can expecting love notes and candy inside only to find human defecation has got to be one of the most hilarious things I've seen in my short life. I have seen it a few times.

Well, today, the UPS man came by.

It was obvious to me what it was, but I found myself thinking, "This can't be poost. Not in America. Not so long after my mission." I decided to shake it. Poost has very distinct "shake properties" if the weight is on one side and shifts slowly or not at all one can be sure they are holding poost. I shook it, and there was no mistake, I was holding a can of poost.

Poost addressed to me? Who could it be? A recent returnee? An angry sister missionary? (Whoopsie. Oh my, oh me. Everythingy is rhymie.) I had to open the package, in case, as there often is, a note was inside the can. Usually something would be taped to the lid, because when sending poost if you need to send a message you need to understand that no one will go sifting through poop for much anything. A very healthy... very human poop lie inside. No corn or anything to identify it specifically could be seen. I didn't spend much time looking at it.

Hopefully, this was one of my friends who will be looking for an explanation so that this mystery doesn't have to last long.

Ha ha, doesn't really matter to me. It is incredibly funny, and I am flattered that not only did someone go to the effort to send it, but that I can be sure my legacy lives on in Dublin.


Saturday, February 20, 2010

Jonathan Thomas Martin: Supermodel

I realize that we have a lot of new readers so the first part of this post is going to be a little bit of a refresher. Hopefully, you noobies are interested enough in this story that you'll read (or at least skim) the previous posts that I link to so that you can appreciate the story I'm about ready to tell.

Back in November, Jake and I thought the idea of making an MBP calendar sounded like a fun idea. We asked around for a while trying to find a photographer who shared our vision. Jake began an email back-and-forth with a popular Utah photographer named Abbie Warnock. The conversation began in a respectful and appreciative tone, but quickly deteriorated into something less than cordial. (In an effort to not reenact the experience, I encourage you to read the post.) In retrospect, we probably didn't handle the situation in the maturest of ways, but... what's done is done. We never said anything hurtful about Abbie and her photography skills speak for themselves so we'd like to think our negative publicity actually helped her in all of her business endeavors, but we have no way of knowing for sure.

Moving on. So after this blog post was published we received a lot of people taking our side and just as many (if not more) agreeing with Abbie. We debated briefly about taking the post down, but ultimately decided against it... like we always do.

We got a lot of comments from a lot of different people. But we also got a lot of anonymous comments. I understand it's nearly impossible to figure out exactly how many of the anonymous comments were written by the same person, but I think I got a pretty good feel for it. One commenter continually referred to us as "ass hats". I know this guy didn't invent the insult or anything, but it was unique enough that I felt safe in assuming all of the anonymous comments calling us "ass hats" were from this one person. He also left anonymous comments talking about how Abbie is his friend and that we had hurt her reputation and that he was planning on hurting us back "10 fold", which I'm pretty sure is a quote directly from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.

This commenter continued to leave comments over and over about how he was going to find us and break our blog wide open by exposing us. Jake and I thought it was pretty hilarious that one single Smelly Face thought he could single-handedly take us down. We laughed ourselves to sleep on more than one occasion.

Until one day, we couldn't log into Facebook. Our original login name was Mormon Bachelor Pad and it had been disabled. Shortly after discovering that our account had been disabled, we received another comment from the same anonymous guy saying the following:

Ha ha take that asshats! I got your facebook account deleted.

A day or so later he left another comment saying something about how that was only "Fold 1" and he reminded us that he would be hurting us "10 fold" so we could look forward to nine more of these attacks. I admit... getting our Facebook account deleted was irritating. We had several hundred friends and we were finally on a roll. Apparently, one of the FB terms of service is that you have to use a name in a FB profile. "Mormon Bachelor Pad" was obviously not a name, so this Anonymous commenter reported us for the Terms of Service violations, resulting in our account being deleted.

I'm pretty vindictive by nature. Jake isn't. So I did some looking around and was able to figure out who this anonymous commenter was. I found this guys Twitter account and found this tweet. It was left on November 19... right around the time of our post. If you look at this guy and think, "Hey... he looks alright. He's completely harmless" you should read a few of his tweets. Everyone who thinks we're bad... my goodness, people. Look at his bio for hell's sake. This guy is a super model or something and thinks he's God's Gift to Women. Seriously.

So I called Jake and told him that I'd figured out who had our FB account deleted. I told him that his name was Jonathan Thomas Martin: Supermodel. I proposed a variety of ways in which we could exact our revenge. Jake reasoned with me calmly. After several hours, he convinced me to just let it go. He wanted the blog post about Abbie to fade away. He was right. Why did I want to stir the pot? Did I want to see what "9 more folds" really were? Yeah. I kinda did. But I didn't do anything about it. I just let it go.

Until Tuesday. I have no idea what came over me. Honestly. I was screwing around on the computer and I decided to look him up again. It had been a full three months since Jake's post and it had truly blown over. It was done. But I found myself clicking on "Send Message" on Facebook under his profile photo. I felt my anger welling up inside out of nowhere. I put the cursor on the subject line and typed "Bitch". It felt so good to finally tell Jonathan Thomas Martin what I thought of him in such a succinct and offensive fashion. I felt myself grinning. Then I typed two sentences asking when we could expect the rest of his revenge. Then I remembered all of the insulting he had done as an Anonymous commenter and I thought, "Oh... this guy is probably scared or something." So I told him that I understood if he didn't want to own up to all of his trash talk... and that I'd fully understand. I hit "send" and immediately regretted it... but not enough to hurry and send another one apologizing. I just went about my business and pretended it had all been a dream.

A couple hours later, Jonathan Thomas Martin: Supermodel emailed me back and said, "Do I know you?" I figured he'd feign confusion. I asked him if "ass hats" rang a bell.

As soon as I sent the email back, I remembered all of the reasons that Jake and I had decided to let it go. I thought to myself, "Crap. The first thing Jonathan Thomas Martin: Supermodel is going to do is report us to Facebook again. Well, he can't report us if he can't find us.... bwaa haaa haaaa." And I blocked him. I sincerely hoped that Jonathan Thomas Martin: Supermodel was smart enough to get our email address off of our blog and reply. I doubted he was, but I hoped.

I called Jake and began our conversation with a humble apology. I told him that I'd done something stupid and I asked for his forgiveness. He refused to forgive me until I'd told him what I'd done. I started to explain my abhorrent behavior. Jake stopped me several times to clarify my tale. "Wah-wah-wait. YOU typed 'bitch' or he did?" "Uh... I did." "YOU did? You typed 'bitch'? That doesn't sound like you at all." "I know, dude. I don't know what came over me." Jake told me later that he didn't really even know how to talk or respond to an "embarrassed Calvin". He'd never done it before and he was speechless.

It got better when Jonathan Thomas Martin: Supermodel left a comment on our blog. I called Jake again and read it to him. I asked if I should publish it because it was so funny. Jake said, "Won't you feel stupid when people see that you called this guy a 'bitch'?" I sighed and said, "Yeah... I will feel stupid. You're right."

But then we got another comment and it was even funnier than the first one. I called Jake again and we thought about editing Jonathan Thomas Martin: Supermodel's comment so it didn't show me calling him a "bitch", but we decided that was unfair. Either we posted the comment "as is" or not at all. It was a tough decision and one that we didn't come to easily.

Ultimately, I decided that his comments were so extremely hilarious that I had no choice but to embarrass myself for the sake of humor. So here they are. His comments... in their entirety. I'll let you read them and then I'll tell you my favorite parts:

I have a hard time deciding where to begin. First of all, this guy wants to beat me up. Tell me that's not the funniest thing you've ever heard. This guy leaves at least a dozen anonymous comments calling us names, but once we figure out who he is and confront him... all of a sudden he wants a piece of us. Not just me, either. Jonathan Thomas Martin: Supermodel wants me to bring all of my 22 year old roomies and he wants to bring his Supermodel posse and meet us at the flagpole after school.

Jake and I were laughing our butts off at the idea of emailing Jonathan Thomas Martin: Supermodel and saying, "Meet at Sizzler on 21st South and 13th East at 8pm... if you dare..." Then Jake and I could be inside enjoying our Steak, Shrimp, and Shrimp while watching these fruitcakes hanging out by the trunk of their car for two hours waiting for us.

I love my life.


ps This was awesome, as well.

pps If our Facebook account gets deleted again... now you know why... and it was totally worth it. Look for us, though. We'll be back.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Sassy = Stupid

Tonight is Lance's birthday. We all decided to do a huge group date. I didn't plan very well, and this afternoon I still didn't have a date. I called my sister (who is two years younger than me and down at Snow College) to see if she knew of any girls up here that I could take.

She called me back a few hours later and asked if I wanted "sporty or sassy"? I told her the date was in four hours and that I should probably try both. She said she already talked to them and they were both available. She said that she told them she was just going to check to make sure I didn't get a another date so that I could choose. I said "sassy sounds good". She said her name was Sienna. She started to tell me about her, but I cut her off and said I didn't care and that I would get to know her on the date and to just to set it up.

I never have to worry if a girl is going to be cute or not when my sister is involved. She seems to have a keen talent for surrounding herself with the "beautiful and popular". Not sure how we ended up being siblings, but it's a resource I have always been happy to tap.

Sienna was hot. She was really hot, an easy nine. Not "easy" like, I could pretend I left my wallet at home so that she would have to pay for dinner and she would still beg me to passionately press her up against the wall of her parents porch for a snog session at the end of our date. No, "easy" like I mean she is very easily a 9 out of 10 on the Looks Only Scale. Whenever I pick up a girl like this (this hot) I get all excited and try to remember some of the more abstract parts of my patriarchal blessing that I can construe to mean that we should leave that night for Vegas and get married, and live for a year in the pad with my roommies until we can get sealed in the temple.*

Sadly in the very short drive from Sienna's house to the restaurant I realized that she was just an empty box wrapped with Thundercats wrapping paper and a silver bow. She was seriously uninteresting. She went from a 9 on the LOS to a 6 on the OS in less than eight minutes. Our conversation on the way to the restaurant made me feel like I was one of those gas pumps that always has a couple more questions. You know, like - zip code? - member card? - car wash? - Toyota or Honda? - Alba or Fox? - Lost or Dexter? - Sure about the car wash? - can I borrow a dollar? - Are you cold yet? - Select Grade and begin fueling.

We got to the restaurant and there was a really long wait. Probably because there were 16 of us in this group-date-birthday-extravaganza. All the roommates plus Brakken, and another of Lances friends and all of our dates. Also I had invited an old mission companion of mine who just got back, Elder Chapman or... Eric, I guess. He is in town from Minnesota and only had tonight to hang with us so I told him to bring a date and come along.

I was glad to be at the restaurant so that I could look at Sienna, and be seen with Sienna, but talk to someone else. There were a lot of conversations and jokes being thrown around the group while we waited. When Eric showed up I was the only one that he knew, so the job of including and entertaining he and his date fell to me. Eric is one of those guys that takes the term "dweeby" to new heights. I loved serving with him though we had nothing in common so it was fun to catch up.

However, I did not expect his date to be a girl like Claire. Claire and Eric were also set up. Claire was cute, she was a 7 on looks (Calvin would probably give her an 8 because she was closer to his preferred body type) but it was her personality that won me over. Our four-some within the larger group quickly became Claire and I talking and getting to know each other while our dates watched. She is barely 19. I know how quick we are to judge based off of age, but this girl is as sharp as a tack.

Amidst all those people, Claire's and my witty repartee consumed me. There might as well have been no one else there. Who knows what Eric and Sienna did? I discovered that she had gotten a jump start on college and only had a year left at the U before she would be eligible for med school. Smart chicks are hot. If I could find a girl I thought was smarter than me it would be like... like... Rudy Ruettiger getting to play for Notre Dame.

In contrast to my actual date, Claire jumped from a 7 LOS to a 9 OS. Eric was cool with me moving in on her since he was heading back to Minnesota. (I know because I asked, bro's before ho's, yo.) So, I got Claire's number and will definitely use it.

When I dropped Sienna off I expected her to make a b-line for the door, figuring she didn't like being ignored all night. I didn't even try to hide my infatuation with Claire. Instead Sienna sat and wanted to chat for a bit, which was pretty much the right amount of torture to make me want to punch babies. As I walked her to her door she linked arms with me and I saw greenlights flashing. I was totally going to appropriately tongue kiss her right there. However, I remembered all the comments on this blog about respecting women and all that so I decided to ---- psych! Ha ha. But I didn't kiss her, though. I couldn't be bothered to deal with the awkward pre-doorstep scene banter. So I gave her a quick hug with a pat on the back and then hurried back to my car.


* It's not Church Doctrine to live with roommate for 12 months prior to getting married in the Temple. I just think it would be cool.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

German Pancakes

I'm finally pretty sure I can say with a good degree of certainty that Marie is officially out of the picture. Whew. It was kind of rough weekend. I haven't seen or heard very much from her since I got my new phone for my birthday. I thought for sure that I had avoided her for long enough that I no longer had to worry every time our doorbell rang. She only dropped by the one time, as far as I know, and luckily Lance had used all twelve of his brain cells to point her in another direction.

Several people have mentioned my seeming affinity for the "crazies", but to be fair I'm pretty sure they're normal girls. My behavior is rude and unkind so the girls in my life are forced to do things they wouldn't normally do. I take full responsibility. That doesn't mean I'm going to change or make any more of an effort to be civil in my breakups. It simply means I recognize my douchebaggery.

Whenever I hear a girl telling a story about an experience she had, I actually retell the story in my own head while she's rambling. I know how girls are. Here's an example:

Girl: So I was like, "How dare you talk to me like that?!?!" and then he was like, "You're the one screaming like a crazy 'b'".

My Mental Translation: So I said, "Why do you say things like that?" and he replied, "I meant that in a good way."

I've been present for several female confrontations and then been lucky enough to also be present for the retelling, and I promise you... this is not an exaggeration at all.

What's my point of this? Well, I'm the same way. This is our blog so all of the experiences we share are from our perspective. Of course (some of) our readers tend to agree with our point of view all the time. A few of you, however, hate us and tend to always side with the girls we happen to be dating at any given moment. If you read back through our old posts and accompanying comments you'll notice how often our readers love the girls we date WHILE we're dating them. That's mostly because we're describing them in a flattering way because we like them, too. But when we start to lose interest, we focus more on what they do that bugs us... and, naturally, a lot of our readers agree with us.

So even though Marie is coming off as a crazy stalker, she probably isn't. Actually, I think Marie is the exception to this rule. On Sunday afternoon, I was sitting on the couch with Jake and Aaron watching some Netflix Instant Watch something or other. Jake's phone rang and I saw him glance down at his phone. I asked, "Who is it?" He shrugged his shoulders as he answered it and said "Hello". I looked back at the TV and heard him say, "No, this is Jake, but he's right here. Do you wanna talk to him?" Jake handed me the phone. I mouthed "Who is it?" and Jake shrugged again and mouthed, "A girl."

I put his phone to my ear and said, "This is Calvin." I heard a familiar voice. "Hi, Calvin. This is Marie. Happy Valentine's Day." I had no idea what to say. I had successfully avoided her phone calls and "pop-ins"for three full weeks... even going so far as changing my phone number, even though that was just a lucky coincidence. I'm not lost for words very often. In fact, I don't remember the last time I was so surprised that I didn't know what to say. I said "Hey, Marie." I stood up and walked into the other room while Jake mouthed through silent laughter, "Sorry, dude."

I babbled through the most awkward and uncomfortable conversation that I'd ever had with anyone in my entire life. I apologized for not getting back with her. Then I told her that I'd met with my bishop two weeks earlier for my annual birthday interview. I told her that I'd talked with my bishop about some of the heavy duty kissing we had done and that I continued to find myself in risky situations with her. None of these things are true, but I felt like I had been backed into a corner and didn't know what else to say. Then I lied even more and told her that my bishop had counseled me to stop dating her if I didn't feel like our relationship was healthy.

I couldn't tell if she was crying or not, but she told me that she understood and then hung up the phone. I felt pretty crappy. But it got worse on Tuesday when I got her Valentine's card that she must have mailed on Friday or Saturday. I thought about scanning it in, but after Andrea's letter, I decided to just type it out:

Calvin, I don't know what you're thinking or feeling, but if things are over between us I just want to thank you for spending time with me over the last few months. I had such a great time and you mean so much to me. Good luck with whatever you decide. Happy Valentine's Day! Marie

I sincerely hope that this experience has taught me to actually break up in person... like a man. But it probably hasn't.


Monday, February 15, 2010

2 out of 5

Valentines Day came and went. Just like the last two Valentines I celebrated while on my mission, I enjoyed them chiefly amidst the male warmth I have become all too familiar with.

It's my own fault and I know it. I killed a good thing with Andrea. I faded a great thing with Sanders. I cowardly, but probably smartly, chose not to purse the Go-Go dancer. (as though I even have a chance) I have ignored the 3 or so not attractive girls that I know have big huge crushes on me. Yes, poor poor Jake.

Lance, has been seeing a girl for about two weeks. He met her online. I, we, still make fun of him for doing the whole online thing... but it brings home the betty's. This girl, April, is pretty. I'd say about a 7, but she is soooo dumb. She is so incredibly dumb that I avoid even having conversations with her. Last night Lance asked if he could use the downstairs for Valentines. He set candles up, had Robin Thicke playing on his iPod, and had set up a dimly lit picnic on the downstairs living room floor. I walked past after loading some laundry, and heard her saying to him, "...then he asked me what mountain range we were in and I said, 'the Alps' and he just started laughing. How was I supposed to know? There's like twenty mountain ranges." Alas, Lance was not seen from again last night so I think it's safe to say he got a Valentine roll around this year.

Aaron took a girl out Wednesday for the first time. She is pretty cute. Probably more like an 8. They made out on the first date, and apparently, (this is according to him) she has the longest tongue on the planet. They were in the kitchen yesterday, before going back to her apartment for some Valentine's dinner she had prepared (for their second date) and I asked her, "Mary, can I see your tongue?" She looked at me, looked at him, looked at me again and said, "Don't be a pervert." She then walked into the front room. Aaron laughed, patted me on the back and said, "Thanks for warming her up for me." Then headed after her. Aaron got home at 4am. I know because he left his keys here and I was the one he called to get in. When I let him in, he said, 'Dude, she is the best kisser!" I said, "I'm asleep. Tell me tomorrow."

Nick hasn't been on a date for a while. I think he spent Valentine's with his parents. He didn't come home at all last night because his parents leave a room for him at their place. I asked him if he had any Valentine's prospects. He said "Lethal Weapon". I said "huh?" He said, "We're watching Lethal Weapon tonight. It's Valentine's after all." I agreed that it was indeed Valentine's, Lethal Weapon made perfect sense... riiiggght.

Calvin, like me, didn't have any plans either. Yesterday the fruit cake he's snogging known as Marie calls my phone because Calvin hasn't been answering her calls. It was funny, but I'll let him tell that story. He and I were going to write a big post dedicated to Valentines Day, and even rate all the girls who have requested we do so privately... but we got lazy and ended up watching movies and eating carrots.

I had a 5 lb bag of peeled carrots, and since we didn't really have anything else in the house, and it was the sabbath, we just ate the carrots. Carrots are pretty good when there's no Doritos or raisins around.

So, no snog on Valentine's Day for me or Calvin. I don't know about Nick, as I'm not sure what type of kissing is acceptable in his family, but it would appear that Aaron and Lance were the best Valentiners this year.


Sunday, February 14, 2010

Happy Single V-Day

I haven't made a whole lot of progress with Mikaela. I know a lot of people are uncomfortable with accidentally making eye contact while trying to scope out a chick, but I kind of like it. Not in a who's-the-creepy-dude-who-is-drooling-over-my-fish-net-clad-thighs kinda way. More in a I-think-I-just-caught-that-guy-checking-me-out-but-I'm-not-positive kinda way. I'm not a girl expert, by any means, but from what I understand girls are only creeped out by a dude if he's unattractive. I've never heard a girl say, "Oh my gosh, this gorgeous, beautifully toned, dimpled face and dimpled buttocks guy was checking me out at the gym. It was creeeeeepy." So it's safe to assume only unattractive, geeky guys can be creepy, right?

Since I'm right on the border of attractive and average, I'm trying to play it safe. Of course I look at her more than I look at the teacher, but the only reason I do that is because I want to see if she ever looks at me. Um... she doesn't. The clock is on the wall at the back of the class and sometimes she looks backward to see what time it is. I always think she's only pretending to look at the clock when she really wants to see if I'm looking at her. Um... she's not. She really just wants to see what time it is.

On Friday I was walking to Intro to Psychology which is in the basement of the Social Science building. As I walked in, I thought, "I need some Starbursts." Looking back, I think it was the Holy Ghost prompting me to buy some candy in the vending machine upstairs. I thought about going downstairs to drop off my backpack before walking up the two flights of stairs to purchase my candy. I stood on the precipice for about 10 seconds trying to decide if it was more work to walk down the stairs, drop off my backpack and then walk back up the same stairs or to just walk up the second flight of stairs with my backpack. I opted to drop my backpack off first, which ended up being the wrong decision because after I walked back up to the vending machines I realized I'd left my change in the front pocket of my backpack anyway.

So after walking back down and then back up again, I realized how badly my thighs were burning. I had to rest halfway up the second flight of stairs. I smiled to myself as I pictured Mikaela hiding somewhere and watching me wheeze on the stairs for two minutes followed by me pumping quarters into a vending machine to purchase my Starbursts. How embarrassing would that be? ("Uh, hi, Mikaela. I'm average looking and out of shape. Whatcha doin' on Friday? Wanna carry me out on a date?")

By the time I got back downstairs to class it had already started. I noticed that Mikaela had chosen the seat directly behind mine. I got excited until I realized how difficult it would be to stare longingly at her. She smiled at me as I sat down. I turned my head sideways just a little bit and asked, "Did I miss anything?" She said, "If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" I wondered if this was Mikaela's equivalent to "Does a bear poopie in the woods?" I smiled and said, "Are you getting fresh with me?" Then she giggled and said, "No, that's what you missed. The teacher asked that question to the class." I said, "What was the answer?" Mikaela replied, "No. It doesn't make a sound." I thought for a moment and then said,"Well, that's just plain ridiculous." She continued, "He said it makes sound waves, but if nobody is around to hear it, then it doesn't actually make a sound." I turned back around and opened my notebook while I thought about that answer.

About a minute later, I turned back around, "What about animals or insects? Did he say 'if noBODY is around to hear it' or did he say 'if noTHING is around to hear it'?" She got a quizzical look on her face and said, "I'm pretty sure he said 'nobody'." I grinned, "Well, I guess I'm smarter than this (begin over-exaggerated air quotes) PROFESSOR (end over-exaggerated air quotes)." Mikaela smiled and said, "Those were pretty awesome air quotes." I stated, "I've found air quotes are most effective if you bend all four fingers for each individual syllable of the word or phrase you happen to be air quoting." I gave a few examples and did my best to really emphasize my air quote skills.

I completely forgot about my Starbursts until 10 minutes before class ended. I opened them up and unwrapped a pink one. It was delicious. Then I remembered something my brother, Rodney, had told me that he'd done. I took out one of the oranges (my favorite) and stretched my arms backward a little bit. When I felt like my positioning was just right, I dropped the Starburst and listened to it bounce onto Mikaela's notebook.

I quietly directed my attention back to the teacher, but listened to Mikaela. After a few seconds I heard Mikaela unwrapping my gift. Then I heard her slowly chewing it. What a beautiful sound. It was like I had baited a hook and she had taken it.

When class was over, I left quickly so she didn't feel obligated to thank me or worry about me trying to walk her to her next class. You're welcome, Mikaela.


Friday, February 12, 2010

Fired Again

I know what you're thinking after reading the title of this post. You're thinking, "Sweet, I can make a comment about how this guy is such a loser, and how as a result of this one event in his life he will marry someone he doesn't respect, who will be boring and how he will be abusive as a result and then be tempted to have an affair with the cute girl in the most recent job he hasn't yet lost and then got a sexually transmitted disease and then he will make a proclamation to all the world through this blog ( which is a terrible representation of what he claims to believe) that women should stop going to school after they learn how to spell 'cook' (deep inhale) and how gays should explode when exposed to sunlight and how Hitler was actually a Mormon Prophet. Then after I (yes, I am still going on with what you're thinking, so when I said "I" just now that means you) have so wittily drawn that profoundly enlightened conclusion from the two words in the title alone, I will top it off with a recounting of how my life is nearly perfect and the only example of how a life should be lived, thus proving all of my aforementioned points. (exhale)"

Unfortunately, if that is what you were thinking I have bad news. I did not actually get fired again from my place of employment. (Phew) Guess you still like me now, and my eternal salvation is intact. No, I was referring to the upcoming CASUAL BLOGGER CONFERENCE.

Back in the middle January we were approached by one of the organizers of the conference. Their request? "Hello boys. Would you maybe be on a panel at a blog conference about being true to your voice? (you can wear a bag on your head)". To which we responded, "Sure. Will we fit in, though? We're not 'mommies' and we're perceived as risque... you know?" She then responded with, "here's the thing, it's not JUST for moms and we like you. And since it's OUR conference and we make the rules, you'll be..."

For the next two weeks Calvin and I discussed how we would attend the conference and still maintain our anonymity. We came up with what we thought was a pretty genius plan.

The first day of this month, we got another message that asked, "Alright boys. Let's talk REAL ACTUAL PLANS. Are you coming to CBC and planning to stay anonymous? and how?" We had a healthy back and forth, discussing the kick "A" zentai masks we ordered. White masks that would have "MBP" and our name printed on them. She was excited, offered to comp our tickets, and asked us to send her a bio.

It would be hard for me to explain how excited Calvin and I were to go to this conference and mingle with some of our fellow blog pals. Then, two days later, the following exchange took place.

CBC: Would you be horribly offended if I uninvited you to be on the CBC?
MBP: Depends on why? And then the only reason that could offend us were if it's because our blog sucks and is no fun to read.
MBP: We never really thought we belonged anyway.
CBC: Um, well, see, turns out, the church, the ACTUAL CHURCH reads OUR blog. And they're coming to be on the panel.
MBP: You know, WE are members of that church... seems like we'd work well together. Besides, do they even have a blog?
CBC: Yeah, somehow I think that they don't have a blog. I DO think you guys are a little too... um. erotic?
MBP: I have it on good authority that several Bishopric members read, love, & approve of our blog. In all seriousness though, it's fine. We get it.
MBP: Just know that we would be comfortable in that scenario and capable of being appropriate.
CBC: I know. but I have to take into account my business partners opinions. so... yeah. YOU"RE FIRED.

Calvin and I were in actuality, pretty bummed. The CBC offered to still let us come along if we would put up their button on our blog, but after talking it over, we decided that hanging our heads in defeat while wearing masks would seem a bit silly.

We often hear from people that we should take "Mormon" out of our name, because we are such "bad examples." I once said that I would be freaked out if President Monson found out we run this blog. Well, I was being funny. The truth is, I would love to hear what he thinks. I have written nothing that I am ashamed of.

Everyone thinks we are so hated. Well I submit that haters are more likely to comment than others. One day we will let you see the emails we get about how inspiring our blog has been to those who read it. I think you would be really surprised. However, in lieu of casting pearls before swine just yet I will tell you we have not ever received one "hate email."

Due to Calvin's recent 200+ comment post, there has been a lot of people with things to say. We love it. We love the negative posts. We love those who hate us. I haven't given Calvin so many high fives during the tenure of our friendship as I have the past 5 days. We think it is awesome that somewhere, someone is spending an hour or more writing anything about us. So, world wide web, know that we wrote this blog to share our true feelings and make people laugh. We are doing both, and we appreciate all your feedback... good or bad. If you don't want us at your conference or on your computer screens... that's an easy fix. We will keep doing what we set out to do until we get bored.


My favorite recent blog posts about us:
Worst. Mormon. Blog. Ever.
Particularly Disgusted (I made a comment that said, "Calvin can be such a pig some times." which was deleted. I thought it was an accident so I posted it again, and it was deleted, again. Luckily I was able to come up with something she decided was acceptable.)
Feminists: Why We're Better Than You
You Stupid Blog, You
Ugh to MBP (you are welcome for the inspiration to start your blog)
I'm so Mad

Thursday, February 11, 2010


I was born in Arizona and I don't tolerate heat very well, ironically, so my parents always provided me with a fan to use while I'm sleeping. When we moved to Utah my parents thought the fan would no longer be necessary given the colder climate. However, I had grown accustomed to the "white noise" the fan provided, as well as the constant breeze blowing directly onto my face. I remember how sad I would get every Fall when my parents took my fan away and put it in the downstairs closet until Spring. When I was around 10 years old, I was able to articulate my "fan addiction" and accompanying "fan withdrawals". From then on I've always been allowed to have my fan blowing on my face all year long. Sometimes it's been a big box fan. Sometimes it's been a large oscillating fan (more people should use the word "oscillate", I think) and sometimes it's been a small fan that clips to my headboard. Those have always been my favorite cause then I can position the fan, literally, five inches from my face. It's beautiful.

There is one "con" to this type of fan. On the rare occasion when a girl is asleep in my bed with me, the fan blows her hair all over my face, tickling me to a point where I can't sleep. But the girls never seem to mind. They must be used to their own hair tickling their own face. One day, when I've been married for a while, I wonder if I'll grow accustomed to my wife's hair tickling my face and be able to sleep through it. I hope so.

About three years ago, I discovered a new benefit to my fan addiction. Spiders don't like the wind. Have you ever gotten close enough to a spider to blow on it? Well, I have. They run the other way. Almost all the time. So, by that rational, I've assumed that spiders will avoid my fan breeze and, therefore, any spiders crawling on the floor or on my bed will stay away from my upper torso, face and neck. This is great news. Especially cause all through elementary school people told me that everyone consumes an average of 7 spiders a year... in their sleep. In fifth grade, Tyler told me that spiders crawl in my mouth while I'm sleeping and I chew them up without knowing it. I still believe Tyler, actually. (And you will, too, by the time I finish my story.)

I sleep on my back for the most part. I'm not much of a "tosser" (funny inside joke if you're familiar with Irish insults) or a "turner". I'm pretty sure I remain relatively stationary while I sleep. So a couple of nights ago I was fast asleep (by myself) in my single bed. I woke up at some point in the night and I was scratching my left pinkie knuckle with quite a bit of force. I had no idea why I was scratching it because, well, I was asleep. But after a second or two, I woke up enough to realize how badly my finger was itching. The light from the kitchen was on and was casting a strip of light across my chest. I brought my hand up to the light and stopped scratching it just long enough to look at it. It was swollen, red, and still itched like crazy. I thought to myself, "A freakin' spider bit me." I closed my eyes and continued scratching as I fell back asleep.

I woke up a few hours later when my alarm went off. When I slowly drifted into consciousness, I realized how itchy my top lip was. I went into the bathroom and noticed I had a huge fat lip. It was red and swollen... just like my pinkie finger was a few hours before. That spider had bit my lip. What the crap?

The scariest part is when the realization hit me that when I had woken up the first time scratching my finger... that spider was probably on my chin, holding really really still, patiently waiting for me to lay back down and close my eyes. It was probably singing me a lullaby or something.

Oh... and I had a weird taste in my mouth. Kinda like spider meat.


Tuesday, February 9, 2010


Quick Sanders update: ... ... ... nothing much to report. Some half-hearted phone conversations. A couple of random texts like,

Jake: How was tanning then?
Sanders: Tan isn't a color Jake... it's a lifestyle.


Jake: Interested in Jazz tickets Wednesday, well, one ticket? As I will be using the other.
Sanders: Interested? Sort of. Capable? No, I have lab the morning after.


Sanders: I'm kind of wondering, um if, uh, like you weren't doing anything... if you wanted, you know, maybe to go to a movie? I mean if your not busy?
Jake: Um did you get cerebral palsy since I last saw you?
Sanders: Jake!!! That is so rude. Ha ha ha. I laughed but only because you're ignorant. Cerebral palsy doesn't make people stutter.
Jake: So you were stuttering then? (squinty eyes)
Sanders: I was playing all "cute and shy".
Jake: Yeah, being that that is exactly opposite of your normal personality, I thought something had changed - hence the cerebral palsy comment.
(hour passes with no response)
Jake: Hello
(another hour passes)
Jake: Okay, sorry for misusing cerebral palsy. You are cute. Promise.
Sanders: Ha ha ha, I'm going to pretend that I wasn't texting you to teach you a lesson.
Jake: Well, fine but while you were ignoring me I got on google and learned a few lessons of my own.
Sanders: Do tell.
Jake: Well, I learned that Sylvester Stallone actually wrote and starred in an Oscar winning movie. and...
Sanders: Are you really that young that you didn't know that?
Jake: Hey, we're talking about the guy in Get Carter and Rambo 3 for heaven sake. Oscar-anything should be a surprise.
Sanders: Ha ha! Ok, and what else did we learn lil Jakers.
Jake: I learned that earlier today when I asked if you had cerebral palsy, what I meant was Parkinson's.
Sanders: You are horrible.
Sanders: Do you know what incorrigible means?
Jake: Nope, and that's not going to change.
Sanders: See that was funny. Making fun of others -not so much.
Jake: I'm unclear what you're talking about.
Sanders: Oh Jake, you are surprisingly adorkable, but I'm ending this conversation before you start mocking any other group of people ;) Besides I have class.
Jake: ta-ra cutie pie.

So, we haven't seen each other for almost two weeks. We don't have any plans to see each other either. At this point we both seem to be on an unspoken schedule. One where we make sure that if we haven't heard from each other for two days we make some sort of contact. Valentine's Day is this week, and well, I think we are both doing a bang up job avoiding it.

It's over with Sanders. I'm just lucky that appears mutual. Perhaps, we can remain friends after this... though that's never happened to me before so I treat the idea like baby pigeons.


Monday, February 8, 2010

Calvin's Deal Breakers

A girl asked me once if I had any "deal breakers" when it comes to women. I think most people consider a "deal breaker" to be a quality, attribute, characteristic, etc. that is completely insurmountable in courtship. However, I don't think anything is completely insurmountable in a relationship. So I'm going to ease up a little bit and define a "deal breaker" as a quality, attribute, characteristic, etc that provides a significant obstacle in my ultimate discovery of eternal-companionship likeliness. I think it's probably safe to say if a girl has three or more of these, then the "deal" can be officially "broken". This list is not all-inclusive and I reserve the right to add to this list at my own discretion.

Here is my "deal breaker" list in no particular order:

1. Draws Flowers, Butterflies, Fairies, or Tribal Designs on Hands

This means she's either 13 years old or she's an "artistic" type of woman. I've heard bad things about "artistic" people. Like they have a tendency to be EMO, Gothic, or lesbian... and two of those three things are bad.

2. Professionally Done Fingernails

I think this means she's not gonna want to change diapers cause she doesn't want poop under her nails. It probably also means she doesn't know how to play an instrument. She's also used to being pampered since getting nails done is expensive and has to be done fairly often, if I'm not mistaken. I don't want to marry a spoiled, selfish, lazy woman who gouges me on accident when she's trying to comb my hair.

3. Loves Country Music

It's cool if she likes one or two songs cause I think we all know The Gambler is one of the most bitchin' songs in the universe. But if she digs country music... a lot... then we're just gonna be fighting over station preset #4 and #5 all the time. Worst case scenario is that she'll convert me to country music and then I won't be able to make fun of it anymore... and I'll have to buy boots and sheep.

4. Likes Sports More Than Me

I'm not that into sports, but I do enjoy watching the occasional game of football or soccer. The few times I've watched a sporting event with a girl, I've relished the opportunity of rolling my eyes at her uneducated questions about the game. It's something I love to do. But if she knew more than me, then I'd be the recipient of the eye roll and that would just plain hurt my feelings.

5. Has Career Goals Other Than Being a Mother

I think it's great that there are women out there who are in law school or trying to get their Masters Degree in something. Great. Awesome for you. But as far as my eternal companion goes, if you're in school right now, it had better be because you are trying to keep yourself busy while you're waiting for me to find you and propose. I hope you plan on leaving all of your career goals behind while you raise our children. I expect you to care for our children. Not your parents or a daycare. Period.

6. Hates Kids or Doesn't Want Them

Why don't you finish law school, find yourself a lesbian lover and make piles of dosh while complaining about overpopulation and global warming you selfish bitch.

7. Loves to Go Dancing and/or Clubbing

If you're the type of person who likes to mingle with drunk guys while letting them gyrate against you on the dance floor, then maybe you should be a stripper and not my wife.

8. Rich Parents

I need to be a man. I doubt I'll be rich at any point in my life and if your parents are rich then I'll feel inferior for the remainder of my mortal existence. I'm not down with that. If your parents are rich, then you'll probably expect me to provide you with similar luxuries that your parents worked 40 years to attain. When you realize I can't afford to pamper you, then you'll run back to your parents for a loan or some other sort of financial assistance. While you're complaining to them, why don't you just take your stuff with you and move back into your old Raggedy Ann themed bedroom.

(I've just realized how bitter this post is getting. Oh well, I'm gonna keep going.)

9. Too Much Make-up

I'd prefer you to be naturally beautiful, but I also understand that a little bit of makeup can accentuate your beauty, so I'm cool with a little bit of makeup. But if I can see a line under your jaw bone where your "base" stops and your actual flesh color begins, then that's a deal breaker for me. On that same note, if you're in the passenger seat and I'm in the driver seat and I can feel your 3 foot eyelashes tickling my cheek whenever you look toward me, then I'll just drop you off right there.

10. Smoker

This is only a "deal breaker" when it comes to my eternal companion. I've heard a lot of people say stuff like "It's like kissing an ashtray" but I doubt that's really true. I've never smoked and I've never kissed a smoker (that I know of), but I hope to be able to kiss a smoker before I get married. I get kind of excited at the thought of pinning a girl against a wall and making out with her while her burning cigarette is still in her hand. Hmmmmmm... nice. But then she'll have to quit, confess to the bishop, sincerely repent, get baptized, wait a year, and then come to the temple with me.

That's all I can think of right now, but this may end up being a "Deal Breaker Part 1" at some point cause I think I'm gonna have a lot more.


Friday, February 5, 2010

In Lust

We get a lot of crap on this blog for being superficial and caring only about looks. I feel that I could make a pretty strong case for how that perception is false, and, give numerous actual examples. I truly do think if I had the chance to chat with any one of our accusers that I could sway them to look past the surface of this blog and see its depth and wisdom.

Instead I am going to make this perception worse with this post. Last weekend I went to the Slightly Stoopid concert up at Harry O's in Park City. It was a great show. Nice long set, good crowd, great mosh pit at appropriate times, a very good show. I have never been to a concert at Harry O's before this. Harry O's has Go-Go dancers. I didn't even know that Go-Go dancers were a real thing.

Go-Go dancer (gō′gō′ däns'er)
-a dancer, often semi-nude, performing erotic movements to rock music, usually on the bar, tables, or stage of a club or pub.

Sure, I saw Coyote Ugly, but the real chicks in this club put those PG-13 Go-Go's in Coyote to shame. I found myself mesmerized. For hours they danced. They do it for tips, I guess. I'm sure Harry O's employs them to a degree. They are not strippers. No my friends, they are Go-Go dancers.

There were 4 or 5 of them. I noticed that most of them were brown-skinned beauties. Which was very exciting for me, because I like the dark meat. I got flattened in the mosh pit, and after my fellow moshers yanked me up off the floor, I figured I needed a little air. I lifted my sweaty head and looked back and there I saw her. The Go-Go of my dreams. She was white and the beautiful brownies paled in comparison to her, the palest of them all.

I sort of had one of those slow motion events where she moved at regular speed and everything else around her, including me, moved in slow motion. This effect finally ended when a drop of sweat slowly dropped through my line of vision.

She was beautiful.

I stared for a while. I didn't dare get too close, because I don't know what Go-Go dancer etiquette is. I mean, if she smiles at me do I have to give her a dollar? I just stood there and watched her. I wondered if what I was doing was creepy, but I glanced around and noticed that lots of people were staring at her. Forget the rock stars (well Punk turned Reggae stars) on the stage... the Go-Go's owned the attention of the club. As she moved to the rhythm of the song Collie Man up on that bar, her presence was unbelievably commanding.

She had long blond hair. It looked like she had extensions, though I'm no hair expert. She was dressed in pretty much a strapless or string bikini. She had fake boobs and on her stomach she had two unrecognizable tattoos. Also there were like a constellation of piercings with little diamonds in them in her stomach (I had never seen that before). The piercings and tattoos added to the artwork that was her mid-section. I stared and thought, "This is what words like 'sexy' were invented for."

I actually had to do a fast head shake to rip my attention away from her. I went back to the show, but at least once every minute or so I would glance back to find her.

I have seen beautiful women before. Even scantily clad ones. I marveled at the seeming superior power this one seemed to have over the other beautiful women before her. Maybe it was the dancing... her milkshake, was definitely the type that brings all the boys to the yard... me included.

I went back to the bar to get water and heard someone call her "Jamie". I caught myself once looking at her and making an effort to only look at her face. With the foolish idea that perhaps she would notice and think to herself, "There's a guy who isn't looking only at my body, he must be different, he must be interested in me. I should date him, adopt his belief system, marry him, make some babies with him, grow old and learn to play golf with him so we stay fit and healthy in our old age." (or something like that)

She got on stage and grinded with the lead singer, Miles, for a while, and I actually felt a little jealous. Jealous of the rock star, pfff! The show ended, and I went home. I was never even closer than 10 feet to her. She didn't even know that I existed.

It has been a whole week and I have had Jamie the Go-Go dancer on my mind ever since. It is driving me a little crazy. Logic kicks in every once in a while. Thoughts like, she isn't even Mormon. She is so far out of my league. She's probably 25 and only dates 40 year olds with Maserati's. Mostly though I suspend the reality of it and daydream about us getting together. Jake and Jamie has a nice ring to it don't ya think?

My daydreams are not as pornographic as you would imagine either. In fact they mostly involve her joining the Church as a result of our young love. In my mind that same smile she blasted out over the dancing horde at Harry O's is on her face as she comes up out of the water at her baptism. And, I don't imagine her mostly naked like she was, no she's wearing hoodies and has her hair in a ponytail and is riding on the back of my motorcycle holding onto me tighter than she really needs too. Listen to me... AAAARRRRGGGGG!

Seriously, it's like I am in middle school again. I don't get it. I think all sorts of girly thoughts, things like the conversations we could have, and the walks we could go on, and the books we could read together. (okay, forget the books thing, I never read. Replace that with "movies") I think about how amazed she would be at what a great guy I am, how different I am from all the other men vying for her attention, and how I love her no matter what. Even though... there is probably no truth to any of those statements. I told Calvin about my mental struggle. He just laughed, but admits, he's been here, too.

What is it that a look, one single look at a woman can drive me so uncharacteristically insane? Is it lust? I am not thinking about all the dirty things we could do if we were porn stars. No, I am actually smitten, fantasizing about our future together. I am in deep smit. I don't think we would have anything in common. Our friends wouldn't get along. Even if a chance was offered it wouldn't work out, we are from two completely different worlds, right? Maybe that's part of the attraction? The fact that she is so different from me. Maybe. Yet regardless of all that reality, I still can't get her off my mind.

She isn't even real, really. There will never be an "us". Yet here I sit, tortured... powerless against her spell. Her sexy sexy dripping-in-sex-appeal spell.

The worst part is, I am sitting here writing this post thinking about how stupid this all sounds, and yet, I am thinking about talking Lance into going up there tonight to chance meeting her again. Conniving little plots and schemes that can put me in a position to get to know her at least.

(sigh) It's so pathetic, I'm even embarrassed my mom is going to read this. I can already hear her, "Jake, get a clue."


Thursday, February 4, 2010

Valentine's and Pillow Fights

I'm thinking I may have stopped calling Marie a little too close to Valentine's Day. I thought the timing was perfect since it was a full three weeks before Valentine's. But she keeps on calling and texting me. I know it's bad of me to ignore her, but I honestly don't think we were dating long enough for me to be obligated to do anything more.

Sure it would be polite for me to tell her "I'm no longer interested", but that wouldn't do any good. I'd still be jerk. So, I do what I always do and ignore her phone calls and texts. (Calvin, you're such a d-bag.)

Luckily, I got an iPhone for my birthday. I briefly thought about transferring my old phone number over to AT&T, but then at the last second, I decided to just get a new phone number. I don't care enough about most of the people in my circle of friends and it also would solve the "Marie" problem.

Except on Sunday I found out that Marie had actually come over to my house looking for me. I guess three days without hearing my voicemail was just too much for her. Luckily I wasn't there. Lance was there (of course... since it was during church) and he told her that I was at church. Marie actually asked where our church was. Lance was quick enough on his feet to give her directions to a different church. Actually, with how seldom Lance goes to church he may have given her directions to Maverick.

So now I'm trying to figure out what to do. Valentine's Day is a mere 10 days away. Marie has to have gotten the hint by now, right? So what is she doing? It seems like she may be trying to force an uncomfortable confrontation. What's the purpose of that? Just to watch me stutter through a breakup conversation? That's just mean. I knew there was something wrong with her.

My birthday was lame. No smooches for me. Probably because I didn't have one of those sweet "Kiss me, it's my birthday" t-shirts. Lance tried to throw me a party, but it turned into a "Lance is awesome and knows a lot of hot girls" party. Most of them didn't even know that they were there for my birthday. So I was pleasantly surprised when Jake sent me a text saying his concert was over and asked if I wanted to "crash" the MG's (Missionary Girls) sleepover party.

We went to the store and bought a bunch of stuff and then drove over to the address where this sleepover bash was taking place. It was pretty freaky cause we wanted to drop off the package without being seen. We thought 1:30 am was late enough that it would be a breeze. But while we were sitting in the parking lot... staking the place out... we saw two different cars pull up and watched the female occupants exit their vehicles and walk straight up the stairs to the MG sleepover. We realized that if we had tried to drop off the package 60 seconds earlier, we'd have passed the girls on the stairs and our cover would have been blown.

Plus, the blinds were open and the window was cracked. So as we crept up to the door, we could hear them all laughing and giggling. None of them were talking about us, though... so that was kind of disappointing. Plus, they were all fully clothed and not having a pillow fight. It totally destroyed my illusion of what I thought happened at every single pajama party/sleepover.

But we successfully dropped off the package and high-tailed (thanks Dad, for the lingo) it out of there. Then we were worried that someone else might find the package and steal it, so we had to scrounge up a few phone numbers from Facebook and call them. It was one of the first times Jake and I actually felt popular. We tried to talk, but we couldn't cause all of the MG's wouldn't shut up. There was talking and screaming and laughing. I'm pretty sure they at least heard our voices, though, and can vouch for the fact that we're actually two guys (as if anyone thought otherwise).

If you want my new phone number so you can text me, let me know. Unless your name is Marie.


Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Becoming Bloggers

When Calvin first proposed blogging to me I didn't know what a layout, a widget, or a button even was. I have since learned their definitions, but still understand very little about how it all works.

Many very helpful superbly awesome people have been offering to help us with a lot of different blog things... including what I mentioned above, and also with stuff like HTML code and what not. Our blog would be a shell of what it is without them.

As you can see we have a new layout. This was done for us by Leelou of Leelou Blogs. She offered to help us a while ago, and we were pretty lazy in responding to her. We thought the idea was cool, but had no clue what we wanted. All we were sure of was that we didn't want our layout to be "mommy blogger" like. Nothing wrong with those, but we're not mommy's.

We weren't altogether unhappy with our previous layout, and could have lived happily with it for-evv-errr. How-evv-errr, we received SEVERAL emails requesting that we change our layout from readers. The gave reasons like "hard to read", "hurt's my eyes", "it's too simple", "it isn't credible." Pfft, "credible"? that person obviously doesn't read our blog... we are far from credible.

Anyway, our back and forth between Leelou included stuff like, "Think, Terminator, Chrome, Motorcycles, Football helmets, you know guy stuff." "We want it to be man-ish, we are after all men." "Your cute, are you dating anybody?" "Stuff like DVD menus for Saving Private Ryan and xBox and stuff."

Amazingly she was able to filter through all my gibberish, ignore my inappropriate advances, ask follow up questions and create what we were looking for. We think its awesome. We will of course make subtle changes as we work with it, but you gotta admit, it's very man-ish, and is pretty far away from the "mommy blogger" layouts that we see all around.

So, you love it, you hate it, you don't care and wonder why we haven't posted anything for several days, whatever... tell us. Oh and pretend you're intelligent and tell us why. We will take into consideration your thoughts... or we might just laugh about you and make fun of you behind your backs.

Leelou, you are awesome. We love you like a sister and I lust you like a love-triangle-female-character chick from LOST.