So, no one has anything to say?

REEEEEALY?

Because I find it hard to believe that this 'friend' of mine is the only one who has thought this. I'm not asking you to 'out' yourself as an unbeliever. What I want to know is how you have dealt with your doubts. 

How have you handled/ how would you handle a similar situation if it was your spouse who was experiencing the same difficulties that my 'friend' is experiencing?

Is there anything wrong with having doubts and thinking critically? I don't mean criticizing and being mean. I mean asking questions and looking for answers? 

Why don't we talk about this more? 

Why can't we use what we have in common to discuss these things?

Don't you think that it could help reconcile our brains and our hearts? 

No more ass rags and sweat. 'Someone' wants to GTFO.

After the outcry against the disgusting bodily function posts, I thought I'd tone things down with a lighthearted post about 'someone' I know and his/her big time troubles with the Church.

Before you go and assume it's me, keep reading. It's not me mofos. I'm not saying that I'm going to be at church on Sunday either. I have yoga.

 I'm jussayin' that I'm not the 'I' in this post. I'm talking about 'someone' I know. Ok? I'm not ready to share with you people what I want to do or what I even believe anymore. It's a friggin' process, and I'm still going through it. 

So, enough about me. On to the 'guest' post.

I have a secret.  

I'm a calling-fulfilling, temple recommend-holding, highly active member of the LDS church, but I don't believe Joseph Smith was a prophet.  I never have.

I wanted to.  How I wanted to!  This church seemed so right, so perfect for me.  But there was something that always felt wrong about Joseph Smith to me. Luckily, I had the book of Alma in the Book of Mormon telling me that I didn't need perfect faith--only a desire to believe.  That was enough, and if the thing I desired to believe was a good and true thing, it would grow into a testimony.  So, I held onto that desire and hope for dear life.  For more than 15 years I have been trying follow the teachings of the prophets, while pushing to the recesses of my mind the nagging thought thatthat one prophet--the supposed most important one--was a fraud.

I did the things I was supposed to do to overcome my doubts and my seeming lack of faith. I read my scriptures, I prayed sincerely, I fasted, I went to the temple and sought some sort of answer.  It never came.

About a year ago I had the thought that maybe if I got to know Joseph Smith better, I would be able to gain a testimony of him.  We're taught to do that with Jesus, so why wouldn't it work for Joseph Smith?  And that's when the Pandora's Box of church history was opened.  All those years I'd just had a feeling that something was not right with Joseph Smith, but suddenly I was confronted with numerous pieces of evidence that my feeling was correct. So, I did what all good Mormons do when confronted with so-called facts that seem to go against what the church teaches--I read the apologists. I tried to find reasonable explanations for these things that I'd read about Joseph Smith.  Some of the alternate explanations were reasonable and I was able to accept them.  Some of them, I could not.  But I wasn't ready to leave.  I basically chose to ignore the questions and doubts I had and soldier on.  

But then as the past year has gone on, more and more questions have arisen.  More things about the church--things beyond Joseph Smith--have nagged at me.  These aren't things brought to my attention by "anti" sources.  These are things from the Ensign and other church publications.   Things from our church leaders.

And so, I have lost my faith.  Not in God.  Not in Christ.  But in the idea that this is Christ's restored church on Earth.  I do not believe it to be the case.  

I do believe that God has a hand in some of the things that happen in the LDS church. I think blessings that are given are very real and do work.  Not because the person giving it happens to hold the priesthood, but because usually the person giving it truly believes that he is following the one true church, and is trying to be Christ-like, and has faith that God will use him as a tool for the blessing.  A kind and loving God (which I do firmly believe in) would not deny such faith just because the founder of said church was a fraud.  I believe that often we do feel the Spirit in meetings.  Again, not because we have been given the gift of the Spirit by priesthood holders after our baptism, but because we have faith and are open to it, and because the basic principles taught by Christ are (in my opinion) true and therefore worthy of being testified to by the Spirit. 

I believe, for the most part, that the people in the LDS church are good and striving to do their best, and I like being among them for that.  

But there are enough things in the church that I believe to be not of God that I want out. 

I don't want to leave because I've been offended, or because I want to sin.  I didn't smoke, drink, take drugs or even drink coffee before I became a member.  Before I joined,  I'd had a grand total of one sexual partner, and it happened to be someone I was certain I would marry (though I did not).  I didn't cheat or steal.  I tried to be honest.  I served others when I could.  Really, with the exception of sustaining the church leaders, I probably could have passed the temple recommend interview with flying colors before I ever even knew what a Mormon was. 

So those are not the reasons I want to leave.  I want to leave because by staying, I'm pretending to be someone I'm not, and that wears on one's soul after awhile.

But then I look at my spouse, and I look at my children, and I wonder if I should stay for them.  I wonder what will happen when they know I've lost my faith.  I wonder if it makes me as big a fraud as I believe Joseph Smith to be if I let them continue on not knowing the things that I've come to know. I wonder if I could live with myself if I allow them to believe that some people are not as worthy in God's eyes due to things other than what's in their heart.  And then I wonder if it would make me a monster to shatter their happy oblivion.

And that wears on my soul, too. 

What's next?

Ever since Jesus attacked me the other day, I have been so curious about what the 'next blog' is. Saturday, it was photographers. Sunday, it was mostly foodies. I got a super yummy looking recipe for coconut banana bread with candied ginger on top. I can't wait to try that one. Today, it's paper crafters. Stamps and cards and shit (snore). 

I found an odd fucking blog on Sunday. This person reused old t-shirts. OK, there's  nothing wrong with that. I have used an old t-shirt for a spit rag, window cloth, shoe-shiner. There are many things one can do with  an old t-shirt.

Did you know that you can make your own ass rags with old t-shirts? Yeah! You can just cut them into squares or strips, and put them in a basket on the back of your toilet with a spray bottle. When you need to wipe yourself after le poo, just spray and wipe. I guess you should put a dirty basket somewhere close by so you don't end up re-using the same cloth. That could get gross. 

Also! You can make snot rags out of old t-shirts. Once again, make sure there exists the proper receptacle for the besnotted rags. The blog author was sure to point out that in her family, they use white rags for the snot, and dark colors for the bum. Good idea.

Ya know, because who wants to get an ass full of snot?

Hot and Sweaty

I'm not a sweater. I don't like sweat. I think sweaty bodies are disgusting. For me, there's no faster way to kill the mood during sex. Don't touch your sweaty body to mine. Yuck. I can just barely handle touching my own sweat. Thankfully for me, I don't sweat much. Not usually. 

Until last week. 

Monday, I started Bikram yoga. What the hell is that? It's yoga that you do in a hot motherfucking room. 104 degrees to be exact. You do a series of 26 different poses. This is unlike any yoga I've ever done. No sun salutations. No upward-facing dog. Not even a warrior. I hate it and love it at the same time. It's hard, hot, and drippy. The yoga. Get your mind out of the gutter. 

I bring a beach towel with me to put on top of my yoga mat. By the end of class, the towel is soaked. Completely. I'm still amazed at the amount of liquid that pours out of my pores each time I practice. I drink tons of water all the time outside of class just so I don't die. 

It's a good thing that I've gotten over my whole belly thing, because most people (myself included) only wear a sports bra and shorty short yoga shorts. My bikini time in Hawaii prepared me for Bikram. However, in Hawaii, I didn't bend forward and scrunch and squish my flabby belly and excess skin. I stood/sat up tall and sucked in all the time. I still have it sucked in, but there's so much twisting and bending and "look at your belly" and "tuck in your chin" and "touch your forehead to your knees" that no amount of sucking in will help. So, I've let it go. Had to. 

I've also gotten over touching sweaty bodies. At least mine. I am the only one I touch during class. But I'm not just touching my hand to my sweaty leg. That would be easy. NOOOOOO, I'm touching my face- my entire pretty little face- to my legs. My 'dripping with sweat so much that it's pooling at my toes' legs. Like, when I look at my knees because that's where they want me to look, and I see the sweat, I have to make a decision -  get the most out of the practice and do what they are telling me to do, or, hell no those are some sweaty-ass legs and there's no way my face is going to bathe in sweat. But I do. I touch my pretty little face to my sweaty-ass legs, and the sweat drips into my mouth. And I don't feel grossed out at all. I'm actually amazed that it doesn't taste gross and salty. I let myself rejoice in the amazingness of my body and allow the sweat to help me move into deeper postures. 

I'm four classes into my first month, and I am pretty sure that I'm going to have to keep going forever. Or at least until I get bored and find something else to do instead. 

Can someone please explain this to me?

For at least ten minutes, I clicked on the 'next blog' button on the upper-left corner of my screen. Why was every single one of them Christian themed? I just counted - 21 clicks = 21 Jesus blogs. WTF? At least two of them were Mormons. How could I tell from the first glance? 

1. The guy was living in Utah, and his name was Jarom. (why do people do that to their kids?)
2. The family of 20+ spanning multiple generations was wearing matching outfits and blogging about the baby's blessing. 

I was clicking on 'next blog' to find something trashy. Not Jesus-y. Why else would I be on the internet at 10:30 at night?

Caught up - III

Want to know what fucking sucks?

I had the entire third part of my post ready to publish. All I had to do was move one line to the end of the post, and it was done. Guess what I did? 

I DELETED THE WHOLE DAMNED THING!!!!!

Fuck it. Here's the summary:

• Mel was confused because I kept everything inside because I took the church too seriously and felt super guilty that I had let him down and therefore was a terrible and unworthy mother and wife.
• He was relieved when I finally broke down the truth to him.
• What started out as 'rebellion', has turned into an incredible spiritual and intellectual journey for me.
• Once you learn something, you can't unlearn it. And once it's substantiated with reliable sources and facts, you can't pretend it's not true. 
• It wasn't rebellion. 
• I'm not the only one in the world who is going through this. 
• Shit! I'm not special. 
• I might not be special, but I do have a good ass. 

Sex Sells- look at my pictures!!

Giant three-legged sea turtle.



This is not the same mofo.



Post-snorkeling at sharks cove. Mel loves my duck-face. (You must click the link and watch the video. It's hilarious)



WTF? I guess it got lost in the translation.



8,000,000 points if you can guess where this is.



Sometimes you have to go down a dark and dirty road



to be able to enjoy and appreciate the awesome beauty of nature.

Can't fall to sleep

I'm having a hell of a time getting to sleep these days. I guess I just need to lay down. In a dark room. With the TV off. That might help. 

You know something I figured out the other day after I got off the phone with Brandi? It's much easier to be an asshole to her on the computer. She's so nice on the phone. I feel bad being snarky to her over the phone. I guess it's best for our relationship if she's my texty-buddy. That way we can cuss each other out and  no one ends up feeling guilty.

I don't do well with guilt. And by that, I mean that I don't really feel guilty. Ever. And if I do feel guilty for some reason, I usually get over it pretty quick. I'm awesome like that. 

It's time to get off this stupid computer. I have to be well-rested for tomorrow. I am going to my first Bikram Yoga class in the morning. I'm so excited!!

Don't bug me about pictures. I'm trying to decide which pictures I want to post. The ones of the beautiful scenery? Or the ones of me looking so hot I get turned on when I look at them? Decisions, decisions, decisions.

I'm home!!!

After what seemed like an eternity on the plane form LAX to BWI - over-fuckin' night with two babies taking turns screaming for 5 hours - I"m here. Safe and sound. Did I mention that I was sitting next to a big-ass man? He wasn't fat, he was just a big guy. He was all muscle, and did I mention that he was huge? I was so uncomfortable sitting next to him. I don't like touching or smelling strange people. At least he smelled good. He smelled like clean laundry. So I guess it could have been worse. He could have been huge and smelly. Smelly like the woman who sat next to me on my way from Hawaii to LA. Praise the Lord that we had a seat separating us. And I am equally grateful that I didn't start to smell her until I had a little less than an hour left in the flight. Because everytime she moved, I smelled her, um, odor. It was frikkin' naaaaasty. She smelled like a combination of old lady crotch and armpit funk. EW.

Next week will bring photos of the trip. I have a crazy-ass weekend planned. It's one of those things where I'm sitting here right now asking myself, "What the hell was I thinking?" Here's a hint: someone I know is turning 15 on Sunday. 

the food

First up- the Puka dog. It's a polish sausage stuffed into a delicious bun that's filled with fruity relish and fruity mustard and this garlicky yummy sauce.



See that brown crispy stuff next to the dog? That's because they impale the bun with this hot dildo looking thing to toast the inside of the bun. This keeps all of the sauces from leaking through the bun.



On Saturday, we traveled to the North Shore for some turtle watching and snorkeling. (I'll tell you about that another time. This post is all about the food.)

After much research, we decided to eat at a shrimp truck for lunch. They are so plentiful up there, each one claiming to be the best and the freshest. My friends on urbanspoon helped us decide on Romy's.





We both got their famous garlic shrimp. Good thing, because there was so much garlic! Neither one of us would have been able to be around the other.



Sunday and Monday we got breakfast and lunch here.



There were two rows of yummy baked breads, treats, breakfast sandwiches, quiches, everything!!! Quick and easy!



Monday night, we ate the Addingtons. No- wait! We ate with them. Naika and Mike treated us to dinner at a yummy Filipino restaurant named Max's. They are famous for their fried chicken. That was good. So was everything else that we had.



The aftermath.



Dessert. It looked better than it tasted in my opinion. Mel liked it though. My favorite part was the leche flan.

That's it! I haven't eaten anything so far today. I know there's spam in my future. I'm hanging out with Naika today.

I've been eating some 'awesome' food!

I'll tell you all about it and all of the wonderfully relaxing and beautiful things I've been doing later. We just got a camera last night, so I'll be taking better pictures than what my iPhone can take. 

Our plans for today:

• snorkle
• try not to get attacked by killer sea turtles
• eat shave ice and get a t-shirt from Matsumoto's
• eat something delicious from some yummy restaurant
• eat puka dogs for dinner

Don't be surprised if I am 20 pounds heavier the next time you see me. 

My white belly

It has been in hiding for at least 16 years. Yesterday it greeted the sun. I'm not totally convinced that it should have been brought out to play. Having four kids hasn't been kind to my middle region. Not to be confused with nether-region. That part is fine.

It doesn't help that there are tons of cute, skinny Japanese women everywhere I turn around. I don't think I would be as self conscious if I knew I was the best looking MILF around. They don't have awesome muscle tone like I do. Or asses. So, I guess I shouldn't be distracted by a little extra skin.

Ok. I feel better now. Thanks for cheering me up. You mofos are great.

Happy 15th Anniversary!!

Our story is crazy. Fifteen years ago, I was huge and pregnant and about to pop. I hate that saying- about to pop. It's gross. It's vulgar. Nothing pops. EW. Anyways, back to our story. 

We didn't want to get married just because I was pregnant. Then he came down on orders. We were both in the Army, so the only way we could both be stationed together was if we were married. So that's why we did it. So our family could be together. Ironic? 

So, for our tenth anniversary, I got a baby. Vivian the Great was born. What else is there to say? For you mofos that know her, you know that she truly is great. Her personality is gigantic. She is the most outgoing person I know. She is best friends to every single person she meets. She loves animals, singing, the color pink, candy, her bicycle, her silly bands, her friends. She loves life and is a crazy monkey. My nickname for her is stinkleberry. She giggles every time I call her by that silly name. 

As luck would so have it, Mel had to take a trip to Hawaii for work. He was able to work things out juuuuust right so we could go for our anniversary. I'm happy about this. Don't get me wrong. It's great. But you know what's funny? It's kind of a cheap present. Lemme break it down.

1. Frequent flyer miles = $200 for my ticket. 
2. Army is paying for the hotel.
3. Army is paying for food.
4. Army is paying for rental car.

But, I'm happy. I'm looking forward to it. I'll get 8 days without my kids. I'll be able to sunbathe, knit, read, plan, knit, sunbathe, chill, eat, drink, surf, snorkel, have quiet time.Yeah, it's ok, I guess. Don't be mad Brandi. Don't be jealous. Stop calling me a bitch. It's not MY FAULT, ok?! I can't help it. My husband is better. He's only spending $200 on me. It's not that big of a deal. 

He's too dang sensible

I shouldn't be annoyed by this fact about my husband. But I am. I just want him to see things the way I see them, and feel the way I feel about them. He's too level-headed. Too objective. Too fair. He thinks things through. He weighs his options. He makes well-thought-out decisions.

I'm not trying to make any decisions. I'm still processing, learning, and figuring out. He makes me think critically. That makes my brain hurt. It's much easier to be emotional and impulsive. Not better. Easier.

It's a good thing for me that he is how he is. I'm thankful for that. He's probably reading this and smiling and shaking his head.

I love him.

MILF & DILF

I just found this out 'fer sure today. It kind of mortifies Patricia that her classmates think her dad is hot. And that her mom is smokin'. "It could be worse," she said, "at least you're not fat. That would be totally embarrassing."

Shallow? Honest? Both? 

Caught up - II

That summer was one of the best and worst I can remember. Best because I met my sister*, Mixee. We all loved her. But I love her the most. We are kindred spirits. But back to the story:

So, all of us girls in the neighborhood would hang out in the afternoons while the kids played. We'd chat, laugh, discuss, bitch, gossip (in a nice way). Mixee really was the most open (wiiiide open, KWIM?) one of us. Even though I knew the other girls longer, I connected with Mixee best. We both have white mothers and black fathers. She was the first black friend that I had since I joined the church. Go 'head. Read that last sentence again. I think I have to. I don't think I realized that until now. But the point of all this is that she brought out something in me that no one else up until this point has. I was so drawn to her because through her, I felt like myself again. My other sister*, S, pointed out that I was a totally different person around Mixee. I was raw and real and dare I say, fun.

It was the worst because I realized that the glass house I had been living in had some very serious cracks in it. Looking back, I thought I was above certain temptations. I am not going to go into details about that part. I'm not trying to create any mystery or excitement. What I will say, is that I had lost who I was. I had forgotten what it was about me that made me happy. I felt like I was trapped in my life. As a result, I stopped eating, smiling, socializing. All of it. I was depressed. Most of you might remember that. You know, the month where I lost 25 pounds? It ended up lasting for close to three years.

During that time, I felt overwhelmed and trapped with being a wife, mother, caregiver, manager, decision maker, all-a-dat. I wanted to escape. But I couldn't. I loved my fantastic husband. He really is amazing. I did't want to hurt him. I was committed to my children. I didn't want them to grow up as children of a mother that ran away. Those two things were really non-choices.

While in the course of therapy, I had an epiphany. As I was crying and discussing my situation and beliefs, the topic of religion came up. Here's how the conversation went:

Therapist: So right now, Patricia is being raised Mormon, right?

Me: Yes.

T: But as she grows up, she might choose not to continue to be Mormon. So, would that be ok?

Me: Ummmmm, yeah, I guess so.

I can't say that I believed what I had said. I knew that the answer I gave was the 'correct' answer. I knew that I was 'supposed' to say that she had a choice. You all know as well as I know, that there really IS no choice. It's expected. It's a given. Up until that point, I had always assumed that she would grow up and marry in the temple and have a million kids and be an active member of the church. I never asked her what she thought about this. I never even entertained the thought that she might want to do something else.

And then a couple of weeks later it hit me. Like a fucking ton of bricks! I DO HAVE A CHOICE! I can choose to go to church or not. I can choose. I mean, I do have agency, right? But I fought it. I doubted myself. I felt guilty. Like I was being selfish. Like I was letting my family down. Like Satan really had a grasp on me. I hated Sundays. I hated going to church. I hated having to see people and put on a show. I hated my life again.

What made me really stop going to church was the four hours of alone time in my house. Really. No one offended me. I didn't find out terrible things about Joseph Smith. I just plain didn't wanna. That's it. I kept up the illusion of going to church by only attending sacrament meeting. But I knew I wasn't fooling anyone. Not anyone who really was paying attention anyway. It was easy to stop coming to church all together when we changed wards.

I tried to attend for a couple of weeks. I really did. I intended to start anew in our new ward. It wasn't the same. I didn't want to have to be on my best behavior for people I didn't know or care to get to know. I didn't like to be the newcomer. I'd skip RS to go to my friend's house. Her backyard is adjacent to the church parking lot. (Psssst! wanna know a secret? Once, she wasn't home, and I stayed and talked to her husband. ALONE!)

That's the gist. I've skipped stuff. When I went to Hawaii, I had my 'first' coffee. I'm pretty sure it was on this day. It was an iced vanilla latte. I remembered quickly that I don't like milky sweet coffee drinks. I'm a black girl. (pun intended) It took me almost two years before I could get a cup of coffee and not feel like I had to sneak around. I've had alcohol. I like it. I haven't been shitty drunk once. Really Brandi. I wasn't shitty. Just a little buzzed.

So, why am I telling you bitches all this? It's my blog. So I'll do whatever the hell I want. That's why. There's more to this story. Like why I think I'm not just rebelling. And why I most likely won't go back. And why I am thankful for people who can present information in an unbiased, educated, respectful way. I'll tell it another day. Oh shit!! I forgot to tell you about one more really important thing!!!

It was a conversation/lesson in Sunday school that took place before I moved. I don't remember what it was about, but the person said something about being converted by the social aspects of the church. That eventually that goes away, and the person is left with nothing. She hit the nail on the head for me. Hence the title.

I'll finish this story but not tonight. I have to get up early to take my daughter to seminary.

*Let the records show: I do not have any blood related sisters. The aforementioned 'sisters' are my bestest girlfriends. They have held my hand and heart through the toughest times in my life. I love them with all my heart.

Caught up

Looking for something to make our already awesome family and marriage stronger, my husband and I opened up to the possibility of church. I was 7 or 8 months pregnant with Trystan and fresh out of the Army. He had a Mormon coworker. They discussed things about the church during work. In turn, he would come home and relate them to me. The things he told me about the church sounded great. But I just wasn't sold on the whole no coffee and no alcohol thing. I was still nursing, and I COULDN'T WAIT to have a beer. After 9 months of abstaining, I missed my pal, Sam Adams. Hell no, I wasn't going to join a church that forbade beer!

The missionaries came, they taught, they kicked ass! Those were some great girls that we grew to love. I went to church for the first time on my birthday. It was boring, but the people were so kind. I enjoyed hanging out with the other nursing moms in the tiny mother's lounge. There were like 8 of us that had boys within weeks of each other, so I enjoyed making new friends. After church, we planned to go out for lunch. Imagine our surprise that they 'didn't do' that sort of thing. What were we supposed to do? We were hungry. Oh well.

There were tons of nice people and fun things to do. We had instant friends. Until this point in our lives, we didn't have a friends. We had coworkers. We had a few people we could call if we needed a favor. But we didn't have people to hang out with. You bitches know me, I love hanging out. I love my girlfriends! This was awesome! The people in the Laurel ward were so great. There was one family that we loved more than the others. You know who you are. We are still great friends with them.

Soon after we joined the church, we moved several hours away. Mel was working a very demanding and stressful job. I was virtually a single parent for four years. It was the friends I had in the ward that helped me and held me up during that extremely difficult time in my life. It was there, that we became part of a family. Our adopted famly. They are grandma, grandpa, aunt, uncle, cousin, sister, brother to our family. They are crazy, loud, open, honest, bossy, annoying. We love them, and they love us.

We eventually moved back to our old area. Although we were slightly disappointed that we weren't within the same boundaries and couldn't attend our previous ward, we soon discovered that the ward we were assigned to was perfect. I was called served in YW immediately. I loved my girls. I still love them.

As I sit here and type all of this, I am hesitant. I cannot say that I have had any bad experiences with the people I know. Maybe fake people stay away from me because they think I'll see right through them. Maybe it's because I'm oblivious to things that don't directly affect me. Remember? I don't gossip. I don't know or care to know other people's shit. I have my own, thankyouverymuch. I tend to gravitate toward nice people, so I generally have good experiences.

So, what went wrong? Why am I 'done'? Life was pretty good. Things were going along relatively smoothly. I was living in a bubble of sorts. Looking back, I realized that I had gotten pretty selective (picky) with whom I would associate. I hung out with my nonmember neighbors, but I bristled every time they would light a cigarette, or cuss, or drink beer. These people were good parents. They had great values. They were honest, kind, and helpful. They were everything I loved about my Mormon friends. If only they didn't ________. Fill in the blank.

As I spent more time with my nonmember neighbors, I realized that something was missing. Something was 'off' about our relationship. More on this later.

Then I met Mixee. Our kids had been friends for a couple years. She moved in across the street, and I finally got the opportunity to know my other sister. One of our first conversations after she moved in went a little something like this:

"Ummm, I don't want to offend you by asking you, so you can say no, and that's fine. But I thought I'd ask you anyway, just in case you'd like to come. I'm having an 'adult' toy party tomorrow night, sooooooooooooo......?"

"Yeah! Sure I'll some. I'm not offended. I have sex. Welllllll, I'll have to see. I need to make sure Mel is OK with it. Hmmmmmmmm. I'll have to get back to you."

Now don't start thinking that because I touched a dildo, that's what started me on the road to hell. That conversation is just one of the first of many conversations that, upon looking back, made me realize that I had become so uptight, judgemental, and boring. Mel wasn't OK with it. I went anyway and got some dumb ass coupons.

There's more to this story. I'll continue it tomorrow perhaps. I have been ignoring my monkey for long enough.