Not Vacation People

I was in Vegas.

This is unusual. Not the least of which is that I don't vacation. I'm a worker. I work. Vacations are for people who have leisure time. My leisure time is filled with laundry. Or, filled with the guilt of not doing laundry. Fine line.

Instead of staying at home as this past weekend, I went to Las Vegas with a bunch of moms (Phread, Sue, and Tiffany.) I cannot even tell you how fantastic it is to travel with other moms.

You know how you plan for trips with your family? Every detail, every eventuality to the extent that is humanly possible, is accounted for. I got into the car and Sue had set out a new bottled water in each of our cupholders. I grabbed her purse for her and noticed she'd packed four string cheeses. Jenny had a piece of trash in her hand and hesitated over where to put it. I held up the paper bag I'd already designated as the garbage bag. It's like being a trip where other people are planning everything for you. It's AMAZING.

Even more amazing: how relaxing a five hour drive is when all you're doing is listening to music, reading a book, or chatting. I sat snugged into the back seat and stared out the window, happy to not being doing anything else. I'd forgotten how it can be to travel when you don't have to monitor anyone else's potty breaks; it's true, my companions can be trusted to tinkle by themselves. I didn't have to break up even one fight. No one yelled at me because someone else was in their space. No one got hit. Nobody made loud, repetitive noises. No cereal massacre in the backseat. No one got squirted with a juice box. No one threw up. Sometimes, we shot down the highway in utter silence, and everyone was AWAKE. So this is how the other half lives. Mama like.

The mountains slid into high desert plains, and then back to rockier mountains rich in iron-ore. A thousand joshua trees in bloom. The red iron-ore seeping back until replaced by sandy browns and stone-rubble hills. Down, down the canyons until the far away lights reflected the clouds. "Is that Vegas over those hills?" asked Phread, "Where the clouds are tinted red with the fires of Hell?" I giggled and tried really hard to stop quoting The Hangover.

Phread and Sue started discussing nicknames of men that Phread had run into during her line of work as her father's daughter. My giggling from thinking about The Hangover spilled out, "I, uh, I know a Tuna and a Gravy."
"What?"
"I know Tuna and Gravy. They were two guys a couple years older than I am. One's nickname is Tuna, and his step-brother is Gravy. Everyone called them Tuna and Gravy. I don't think I even retained their real names, I'm pretty sure that everyone forgot their real names. I mean, they're Tuna and Gravy!" I collapsed into a fit of laughing. It's one of those things you just stop thinking is funny when you're young; it's just Tuna and Gravy. And then, as an adult, you realize that there are still grown men driving around somewhere who you still think about as being TUNA AND GRAVY.

And that drove everyone else into corresponding fits of giggles.

More dispatches from Vegas ahead...

The Casserole Changes Hands

Friday morning one of the neighborhood ladies arrived at my home to pick up the casserole I made for the homeless. She bustled up to the door, dressed to the nines by 10:30am, her immaculate 20 year-old Mercedes coupe idling in front of my house.

I handed her the big aluminum tray filled with some sort of nearly unidentifiable, possibly unholy mixture of egg noodles, ham, veggies, cheese, cream of chicken soup, milk, sour cream, seasoned salt, and topped with corn flakes (hand-crushed.)

"Oh!" she said, "It's homemade!"
"Uh," I answered, "Yes, it is. Is it not supposed to be homemade?"
"No, that's wonderful! And so kind! Normally people just buy a casserole from Costco. They will love it at the shelter!"

I...

I'm Pretty Much the Worst Mormon Ever

A few women in my neighborhood work with a homeless shelter in town. These women do great work, and I'm just lucky to live even near them. Every month they send around a sign up list to have a few of us make casseroles to be used to feed the homeless. That's our scene: I need to make a casserole for the homeless.

Let's make something clear: I am not a casserole snob. I just didn't grow up with them, my parents never cooked them. In fact, every year on my birthday my friend Jenny actually MAKES me a potato casserole called "funeral potatoes" which thrills me to no end (two months and counting.) Unfamiliar as I am with those peculiar American gastronomic beasts, casseroles are things of awe and confusion. I do not know how to make them. I can guess, I think, but really, they're stupefying in their complexity. How do you know what to put inside? What is the sauce? I'm at a loss. I'm the worst Mormon ever. What Mormon doesn't know how to make a casserole?

Which is how I ended up at the grocery store tonight aimlessly pushing a cart and having Petit Elefant, raised good 'n' right as a renown casserole expert, talk me through the experience.
"Are you at the grocery store?"
"Yes. I have to make a casserole for the homeless."
"Of course you do."
"Only, I don't know how."
"Seriously? You take a bunch of stuff, mix it all together, throw some cheese on top of it, bake it and done."
"Ooh! Cream of chicken soup, I use that don't I?"
"Yes, or mushroom."
"Oooh! I could mix cream of chicken and cream of celery together! Oooh! I could mix the chicken and the nacho cheese soup together!"
"It doesn't matter."
"I should get some frozen vegetables, right?"
"It doesn't matter. Sure."
"I feel like there should be sour cream. There's sour cream in casseroles, right? Should I get the full-fat or low-fat? Are the homeless concerned with calorie intake? Hey! I could make tuna casserole!"
"No."
"I like tuna! That sounds good."
"No, you can't make tuna casserole for the homeless, promise me you won't."
"What about Canadian bacon! Is that a thing? I could do Canadian bacon in a casserole! That could be yummy."
"It doesn't matter."
"What kind of pasta should I use? Egg noodles, rotini, radiatore..."
"*Snicker* What kind of pasta...EGG NOODLES."
"But what about a nice penne?"
"Listen to you. No. EGG NOODLES."
"I need a topping. All I have at home is Japanese Panko crumbs."
"Stop it."
"Should I buy corn flakes? That's a topping, right? You know, if it was me, I'd toss the flakes in a bit of butter to help with the browning and then sprinkle them evenly on top."
"*SNORT*"
"Do the homeless like season salt? I think I'll put some in, that could be good. I should buy cheddar cheese because I only have gouda right now."
"Do the homeless..I can't take this."

I piled all the ingredients into the store cart, paid, and made it home. I started opening cans and packages, stirring, trying to taste the beige glop as I went. I have to say, cold canned cream of chicken soup is not tasty, not even with season salt. No measuring, just stirring. Weird. I figured out that I would probably need to cook the pasta first (right?) I did make sure the noodles were drained a touch before al dente so they don't lose all integrity when baked. Wow. I'm hopeless. You casserole people are so mysterious.

Anyway, I hope the homeless like my casserole. Maybe next time I'll go bananas and put tater tots on top. That's a thing, right?

Why You Should Have a Mormon Friend: Hoarder Edition

Mormons have a secret we're not telling you. We like food.

Well, duh, you're saying, of course you like food.

No, but we really like food. Look, we don't drink, we don't smoke, we don't latte, we don't do drugs, but we do do food. There's preparing food, eating food, sharing food, going out for food, it's a big deal.

(Like your mom.)

But there's another thing you may not know.

We hide food.

OK, not like, hide hide food. Think of us like squirrels, we put food away, we stockpile it, we built shelves in basements to handle all the food. See, a long time ago, our church leaders encouraged the members to put aside a year's worth of food. A YEAR? Yes. A year. It's not as crazy as you think. Storing wheat, flour, beans, dry goods, canned goods, etc., just requires a little know how, and some space.

Lately, all Mormons have been encouraged to have at least a 3 months supply on hand: food, hygeine supplies, contact solution, Diet Coke, cake frosting, you know, whatever it is that you need to function everyday. How? When you see a sale at the store don't just buy one, buy 12, and put them away. You do it little by little, every time you go to the store, buy more of something and put it on a shelf somewhere. Buy a big pack of meat, split it up into smaller portions and freeze. Eventually, you learn to rotate and keep more of certain things on hand, and you've got an emergency supply.

BUT WHY? Good question. In case, that's the answer.

Just in case you lose your job, in case you run out of money, in case there's a disaster (like a snowstorm where you can't leave your house to get to a store, ahem,) in case of ANYTHING. There's something about knowing that you could feed yourself and maybe your neighbors if the poop hits the fan.

Because if poop hits the fan in your neighborhood, Mormons may be the only ones with the goods to get you all through the worst of it. It's true: a Mormon friend will never let you run out of toilet paper, a Mormon friend will have more pasta, more canned beans, more canned milk than you ever knew you needed. A Mormon friend may even be able to bake you bread from scratch (from the wheat that they ground....yeah, we're hard core like that.) Man can't live on bread alone, but man certainly needs bread.

So there's your answer: you should have a Mormon friend because we can hook you up with the stuff you and yours need to keep living.

Come and knock on our door for a change!

And that's Why You Should Have a Mormon Friend: Hoarder Edition!




Warning: Don't come and try to just take our food storage, some Mormons store guns "just in case." No, it's no religion-specific; it's a Western thing, you know, like cactus, yee-haw, and shoot 'em ups, with a slight ring of militia.

Why You Should Have a Mormon Friend: Poly Edition

Because we know how to pronounce Polynesian names.


Call us, sports commentators, we can help you out.


Fui Vakapuna
Sione Pouha
Jonathan Fanene
Fili Moala
Setema Gali
Fahu Tahi...


So that's Why You Should Have a Mormon Friend: Poly Edition.


Maliu mai!
He mea iki!
Ki ora!
Vinaka Vakalevu!

Why You Should Have a Mormon Friend: DD Edition

Here's why you should have a Mormon friend, because we're always the designated driver.

It's true! You've heard that Mormons don't drink, and that is generally the case, but instead of wrinkling up your sherry-red nose at the horror of a lifetime of buzz-less living, think of how this benefits you.

Yup, that's right, when you've got a Mormon friend, there's no pouting and campaigning over who will or won't be the designated driver, no taking turns, no "I was last time," your Mormon friend will always be the designated driver.

Don't feel bad for us, we're happy, thrilled to be the DD. After all, you're our friends too, and we want to make sure that you make it home safely, relatively intact, and don't hurt anyone else. Mrs. Potts told me recently that her husband gets drunk dials at 2am from his law school classmates because they know he'll make sure they get home safe. How awesome is that?

The thing that I, personally, like about being the designated driver is I have a lot, a ton, a schload of dirt on you.

I remember clear as a bell the night that my friend, let's call her Bethany, showed us exactly the kind of magic potion Jagermiester can be by baring her soul and doffing her top on a really high Slick Rock boulder in Moab. I guarantee that Bethany doesn't remember a thing. I have that one in my back pocket the day I need something from Bethany. I've pulled girls from the backs of motorcycles ("YOU DO NOT KNOW HIM") and away from men ("He's TOO YOUNG/OLD, put him BACK") and held many a pony tail when she was vomiting on the side of the road in the Nevada desert. Just like Fergie says, it's glamorous to be your DD. Well, she doesn't say the "designated driver" part, but I think it's implied.

Sure, occasionally you'll have to see us raise our eyebrows, but you're too into your cups to notice. Sometimes we have to pry the phone out of your hand before you call your ex (YOU'RE WELCOME.) Rarely, you get really angry and storm out of the bar/restaurant/lounge because we looked at you funny (hey, paranoid drunks, r e l a x.) But you're still our mates, our crew, our gang, and we still like you, even if you accidentally hit on us.

And don't you worry, I know exactly what happened the last time you blacked out.


So that's why you should Have a Mormon Friend: Designated Driver Edition.

CHD - Adrienne and Cali's Story

Almost six  months ago my friend and neighbor Adrienne had her first baby, a little girl named Cali. Her birth was different than most because Adrienne and Thomas knew that Cali would be born with a congenital heart defect. A team was assembled to help Cali receive the critically important attention and surgeries she would need to survive. Even though heroic efforts were made, sweet baby Cali lived only a week. You can read more about Cali's brief sojourn on this earth here.

Adrienne involved herself in the cause of congenital heart defect (CHD) awareness, and through her efforts, February 7th-14th has been declared CHD Awareness Week in the state of Utah.

In recognition of CHD, Adrienne suggested a few ways to get involved:

Talk to friends, neighbours about your experience with CHD
Give blood (Cali received many blood transfusions)
Volunteer at a local Children's Hospital
Donate financially to one of the many worthy organizations here.
Buy a CHD Awareness Week Pin for $5 at http://tchin.org/pins/ & wear it!
Change your Facebook profile picture to one of the CHD Awareness Stock Photos
Wear red for CHD week and tell others why you're wearing it
Use your Facebook/ Twitter Status to talk about CHD Awareness
Become friends with CHD Awareness Week 2010 (Official) on Facebook
Hand out Pamphlets on CHDs (contact me if you'd like some!)
Wear a CHD Awareness sticker (Contact me if you'd like some!)
If you participated in the Heart Walk in September, you could wear your Tshirt!
If you're in Utah:
Paul Cardall benefit concert 

The Paul Cardall benefit concert will be held on Monday, February 15th, 2010, 7:30pm at Abravanel Hall in Salt Lake.

Organizing the declaration of CHD Week is such an amazing accomplishment, I'm so proud to say I know Adrienne! To take such a devastating personal tragedy and create something positive that transcends the experience is incredibly inspiring.