Cheese and Rice!

Only in Southern Utah do I go out on a Friday night to do a v & the b and find the coffee shop ready to close "unless you are here for Bible Group."  

I was not there for Bible Group.  

I did not even know that Bible Group was happening... but they hadn't busted out their guitars yet, so I stayed.

I know it's going to seem like I am making fun of religion, but I am not.  I respect religion.  I might however insert a few wisecracks about hypocrites.  I fucking love hypocrites.  They do all the work themselves.  

Southern Utah.  Mostly Mormons.  And Mormons don't drink hot caffeinated beverages and they don't drink alcohol.  This was going to be interesting.  (Please refer to title of blog.)  Turns out there was plenty of coffee to be found and there are liquor shops.  (Just don't buy that beer they sell at grocery stores:  that stuff is Barley-Flavored Soda dressed up for Halloween.)

It also seems like the Mormons don't like The Cussing.

P.B. & G.

We think we should be in commercials.  

Sometimes, we even write them ourselves.

Rarely can we shoot one without laughing.

Peanut Butter.  Take One.

Bitch Sugar

My fixation on signs began a few years ago.  I can't stop collecting them.

This first sign was posted in a dorm at a college in Iowa.  

I like the severity of its words in contrast to its pink hue.

I like the exclamation point at the end.  

I like that some event or events must have prompted its adhesion here.

Breeches and Hose

breeches (/ˈbrɪtʃɨz/breeches or britches) an item of clothing covering the body from the waist down, with separate coverings for each leg, usually stopping just below the knee, though in some cases reaching to the ankles.
hose 1. are any of various styles of men's clothing for the legs and lower body, worn from the Middle Ages through the 17th century, when the term fell out of use in favor of breeches and stockings. (See alsotrousers.) The old plural form of "hose" was hosen. The French equivalent was chausses.
hose 2. are sheer, close-fitting legwear, covering the wearer's body from the waist to the feet. 
ho 3. (ho)  n. pl. hos. Slang A prostitute.

I never wanted a job that asked a dress code of me.  I spent twelve years in a Catholic school uniform where any expression of individuality was squelched (save for colorful socks and creative hair styles; see Bang Bang Perm Fringe)  Even my extra-curricular activities required uniforms: field hockey, ballet class, and that one feeble attempt at a season of Track...  So, these days, I love clothes.  I, in fact, dress-up for a living, sometimes changing up to five costumes in the course of a two-hour play, each with its own set of undergarments and accessories.  Outside of work, I am frequently accused of over-dressing for events.  Yes, as far as I am concerned:
Life is a Party.  Dress up for it.

Bang Bang Perm Fringe

This is the story of hair.  The story starts in 1988 because that's where things started to get interesting.  Before that it was all ponytails, pigtails, and buns for ballet class.  

BORING.

My mother would not let me get highlights or a perm while I was still in grade school.  Hmm, I can't imagine why.  (See below.)  In 1988, during the summer between 8th grade and Freshman year, I got The Perm that lasted me for the whole four years of high school.  The term "permanent" was accurate and the results were unfortunate...

Balls

When I was young I figured I would grow up to be an actor.  Or a professional Ballerina.  Or a nun.  (Nunhood was a fleeting ambition cut short by the unhidden laughter of my sister and parents.  I'm pretty sure that what I meant was that when I grew up I wanted to be Julie Andrews and spin around in the Swiss Alps and then marry Mr. von Trapp... like so many nuns do.)  I had been told that actors don't make a lot of money and that even modest-paying jobs are hard to come by.  I was prepared to struggle.  I was right to...

Animal Crack

I
When I was in sixth grade we got a cat.  Or rather, a cat got us.  In human terms, it was as if a slutty teenage girl had been kicked out of her house, taken a liking to my mom, and flattered her mothering characteristics until there was no other choice but to take the wayward girl home and care for her.  We girls loved that delinquent to pieces!  Sure, she got into fights in the neighborhood a lot, and yes, of course, she inevitably came home pregnant (we still don't know who fathered those four kittens), but we loved her all the same.  Though Mom insisted that we share the duties of cat food and litter box, ...