Hot & Bothered

Because I cannot sit quietly when people are nonsensical, I often become more than uptight listening to Bob Lonsberry.

You've heard how I love my talk radio. And I do. After 9 AM. Because before 9 AM, at least during the hours that I am conscious, my favorite talk radio station features one of my least favorite radio show hosts.

In case you have never had the narrow experience of listening to Mr. Lonsberry, imagine someone who sees the world from his singular point of view, that is about as broad as a grain of mustard seed. And if you fall any direction outside that parameter, and how could you not, then you are in error. In a nutshell, or shall I say mustard seed, that is Bob.

But for some reason, this morning, I tuned in anyway. I dropped in on a discussion about the Mormons Exposed upcoming 2008 missionary calendar and I realized something Bob should already know. It is difficult to hold a debate on something when no one disagrees with you. And for once I even agreed, in principle anyway, with Bob.

But let me back up and fill you in, because chances are you have not heard of the soft-porn, ruckus-causing publication. Basically Mormons Exposed is a calendar featuring topless male Mormon returned missionaries. Sounds harmless to many of you, but in Mormon country, it's definitely causing a stir.

I agree this calendar is an odd enterprise within the Mormon culture. If you know Mormons, and understand their commitments to modesty, then you may appreciate the conflict. If not, then you'll have to trust me. It's a bit of a screwy concept. And I'm not just saying that because I have not yet been contacted by CMH Entertainment LLC to model for the sequel calendar Hot Mormon Moms.

But that was not my point when I dialed Bob's number on my cell phone this morning. I called him up to voice my opinion on the idea behind the calendar which applies to any product in this type of genre. Basically, men have to get over themselves and how they look because as women, we don't really care.

Now before you start arguing about how I'm screwed up or how you, your girlfriend, you sister, or your mom loves this type of junk, let me say one thing: PlayBoy outsells PlayGirl one thousand to one. The end.

It is a fact that women do not think like men. And if you are a man you probably first realized this when you were six and caught an elusive, slippery frog in the nearby pond and when you excitedly went to show it to the neighbor girl, she screamed and cried and then wouldn't even look your direction for a month.

If you are like Bob and have not had the fortune of learning that little bit of information, do so now. It will go a long way in your future relationships.

Don't forget it: Women Do Not Think Like Men. Ever.

All a man needs to do is think of how he would react to something, flip it upside down, do a 180, turn a few somersaults, jump up and down and then you'll be there or somewhere nearby. As in the vicinity of where a woman is in her thought process. But don't think that as a man you can actaully go "there" on your own. Consider yourself gymnastically challenged in this regard.

So I gave ol' Bob a jingle and he kindly put me on the air. I told him women are more complex than men. We are not as easily sexually stimulated visually like a man. We are wired differently. I proposed that if there is any market for these types of calendars among women it is largely because such thinking has been imposed on women by a male dominant society. Men like to think that women want to stare at their bodies, but we don't find it as stimulating like a man does looking at a woman.

Bob said apparently I've never seen him in his Levi 501's.

Point made perfectly. Thank you, Bob.

Oh, and a big ol' Charlie Brown, "Urrgghhh!" to you too!

If you have nothing better to do with your time the radio broadcast can be heard here. Go to Monday, September 24th and fast forward to 95% of the way to the end. (I was the second to the last caller for the day. I called in under the secret code name of "Debbie.")


If you want to read one of many credible scientific studies that backs up my statements about women and visual sexual stimulation compared to men go here.

Parting is Such Sheep Sorrow

Because Bart has been clamoring for more missionary tales, and since I've only told one or two, I've got another today. As I have not served a mission, this story is retold from the DH archives.

One particular missionary that served in England with DH was Elder Poulsen. Elder Poulsen was a country boy from Utah, and playing pranks on other missionaries was his forte. He was so evil he made DH look like a choir boy.

More than one unsuspecting missionary had been left in the dust by Elder Poulsen because a bike tire had abruptly fallen off mid ride. Further investigation into the unfortunate accident would reveal that the tire bolt had been mysteriously loosened only minutes earlier. The destruction had most likely been done while the missionary companion had run back into the flat, on behalf of Elder Poulsen's request, for a forgotten leaflet.

Several elders (male missionaries) had uncomfortable conversations with sisters (female missionaries) because they needed to temper supposed romantic inclinations. They had been told in confidence by Elder Poulsen that a certain female missionary had the "hots for them." Of course, none of the alleged romantic feelings had been substantiated by any inkling of proof, which is probably what made the drama so seemingly enjoyable for Elder Poulsen.

Because of his reckless nature, many of the other missionaries were not so fond of Elder Poulsen, and they did little to hide their lack of affection.

Near the very end of Elder Poulsen's two year mission, several missionaries were celebrating his upcoming departure from England. But some seemed more contrite. A few of the missionaries in Elder Poulsen's mission sent him a package shortly before his scheduled departure date.

Elder Poulsen received the package one afternoon in the mail. Sitting in the flat he shared with three other missionaries, he unwrapped the twine and tore off the brown paper. The box of chocolates immediately had the others' eyes, but Elder Poulsen refused to share. He first looked inside at the hand written card from the kind-hearted package-posting missionaries.

Upon opening the note, Elder Poulsen read a sincere message his fellow missionaries had written. Expressing gratitude for his work ethic and example, the missionaries wrote of their respect for him and their confidence in Elder Poulsen and his abilities. They concluded with sharing their love for him and the work with which they were all involved.

Not one to be emotional, even Elder Poulsen was more than misty eyed by the peace offering. Still refusing the pleadings to share from his flat mates, he popped a chocolate in his mouth and began to open another letter.

After sucking on the soft melting chocolate for a minute, a striking putrid taste began to emit from the delicacy. Elder Poulsen quickly spit out the offending treat. Then he looked around. Apparently, having given up on receiving even one morsel of chocolate, and deeply engrossed in their own letters from home, none of the fellow missionaries had noticed Elder Poulsen's half-eaten confection.

In an uncharacteristic streak of generosity, Elder Poulsen threw a chocolate morsel to each of the other missionaries. They quickly gobbled the rare treats with delight, so Elder Poulsen tossed them each another.

Midway through the second round, one of them caught on to Elder Poulsen's inconsistent sharing of chocolates. In a loud gagging eruption, the fellow missionary's taste buds told him the truth about the supposed treats.

When eaten quickly, one could hardly notice, but when slowly enjoyed, the triple chocolate dipped sheep droppings were positively awful.

Weighty Issues

A little more than ten years ago, my sister Christine went on an LDS church mission. She was the only one of the daughters in our family to serve such a mission. This made her a bit of a novelty to which none of the other sisters, including myself, could relate very well.

While she was serving, I would occasionally think about writing her, but I was not very consistent with that loosely contrived plan. One morning, I flew to Kentucky on business. Since I was bored playing Solitaire on my laptop, and it had been months since I had written Christine, I decided I should do the charitable thing and write my missionary sister a letter.

As I typed the Microsoft Word document, I asked her some generic questions, told her about my job and the kids, and then I finished the letter inquiring as to whether she had gained any weight yet. Much like the Freshman Fifteen in college, young female missionaries have the reputation of putting on some unwanted weight as well. Thinking I was being funny with the weight comment, I chuckled to myself, quickly finished the letter, and printed and mailed it off when I got back home.

Not more than a week after that, I received a response from Christine. She began her letter early on addressing my remark about how much weight she had gained. She emotionally explained, that it had been so hard to eat right and exercise while on this mission. She described how she was too poor to buy healthy, fresh food so she mostly ate bread and pasta with a little bolgna. She said she had long since outgrown all her original mission clothes. She was having to buy bigger and bigger dresses almost every week. Even her shoe size had grown!

Completely in shock, I continued to read how she felt so terrible about herself and what this weight gain was doing to her. She confided, that she had not told anyone else in the family about this yet because she was so embarassed.

She requested my help as well. Knowing I could sew, she asked if I could make her some tent dresses, as she had gotten so large she did not even know if normal clothes would still fit her. Then she loosely sketched a small drawing of the type of dress she needed.

My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking. I felt awful for such an insensitive comment in my original letter. I immediately committed to myself, as soon as I finished the letter, I would begin to sew the prettiest tent dresses I could. I assured myself that when she got back home, we would go running together and I would help her take of the weight.

Feeling awful about my sister's predicament, and unable to even picture what she must look like so suddenly overweight, I turned the page of her handwritten letter over. It continued with the simple pleading, "Please pray for me." My heart sank. I marveled at how she could have left us less than a year ago as a size 4 and already be at this point.

Then without skipping a beat, she continued to write. "I am kidding. I have hardly gained any weight at all. Maybe a couple pounds, but I don't really know, becuase I am a missionary and don't own a scale. But it was rude of you to ask. And what is with never writing me? Ha! Did I get ya?"

At that is how I learned the lesson, the rest of you probably already knew, that it is never polite to ask someone if they have gained any weight lately.

The Perfect Prayer Prank

DH has only a mild history of being a jester. But the few gags he has done have been well executed (putting aside the obvious Bob's Big Boy incident, of course). Evil scheming authored the Greeny Companion Gag he pulled on some poor lad in England.

In the late 80's DH went to England for two years to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Donning the title of "Elder", this was to be two years of spiritual growth for an otherwise immature 19-year-old. It is common to be paired with another young male "companion" and together they were to spread a message of Christ and the Gospel. For the most part, that was the lofty work DH was involved in during those two years. But that is not to suggest he was a perfect saint

After DH had been in England for more than a year, he received a new companion fresh from the United States (aka "A Greeny"). Fighting a terrible case of jet lag, this new missionary was not very successful at avoiding the urge to doze off during what should have been wakeful hours.

Soon it was Sunday morning which for two missionaries, obviously meant time to attend church. Sure enough, once the opening hymn was sung and opening prayer was given, this new messenger to England was sound asleep in an awkward upright position. DH, let the poor boy snooze for some time. Amazed at the young man's ability to be so soundly slumbering during the middle of the morning, DH quickly developed a not-so-righteous plan.

During a lull not more than half way through the Sabbath Day meeting, DH gave the inexperienced missionary a huge elbow and whispered, "Elder, the Bishop just asked you to give the closing prayer." Abruptly brought back from dreamland the obedient missionary promptly walked to the front of the chapel, stood at the pulpit, looked over the unsuspecting crowd, then bowed his head and eloquently prayed a blessing on the congregation to close the meeting.

A bit bewildered, the Bishop stood up. As the newly hazed missionary walked back to sit next to DH, who was doubled over in pain trying to silence his body from exploding in hilarity, the Bishop quickly suggested, "While our new Elder has given us a closing prayer, I think we will keep going for at least a few more minutes."