What to Have the Divorced Guy Teach at Church

Okay, I swear that I’m not just a once-a-week kind of blogger. I’ve just been busy is all. Lots of stuff with work and hanging out with the kids…by the end of the day I’m tired. Look, I’m writing a blog entry right now so you know I mean it when I say I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be better.

*choke*

Seriously though. I’ve got to get better with sitting down for twenty minutes every couple days and putting my thoughts together.

So here’s another quick Mormon culture backgrounder. Our Sunday services are divided into three (count ‘em) hour-long blocks. First the main service, then the adults do Sunday school followed by separate classes for the men and the women. The kids have their own classes during those last two hours. In Sunday school there are just one or two people assigned to teach, and they do a great job. In the separate classes though, people take turns. In our men’s class specifically, we have a few assigned to teach lessons on a rotating basis.

It is here that my small story begins. It’s all about how the person in charge needs to take a bit more into account when handing out the assignments than just “one for you, and one for you, and one for you” or the results can get uncomfortable. Specifically for me. But at least in a humorous way, because I so happen to have a deep-seated sense of humor. Without it I would have cracked a long time ago.

So I’ve been assigned to teach three times this year. The assignments came well in advance, which (another Mormon culture backgrounder) is something of a shocker. My lesson assignments for the year:

•  Mother’s Day
• The Law of Chastity
• The Prophet Joseph Smith

Obviously, as the divorced guy in the room, the Mother’s Day lesson is tricky right out of the gate. What would one say? And especially under such particular circumstances as having an ex who has switched teams? Fortunately, I dodged a bullet on that one and class was cancelled so that everyone could participate in doing other things to help the women in the church for Mother’s Day. Whew.

“The Law of Chastity” is a phrase that we Mormon’s are very accustomed to hearing but that tends to elicit more of a deer in the headlights stare from outsiders. In more secular terms it might be phrased as “Not Doing Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You (In Bed)”. Again, as the divorced guy in the room, this is a totally awkward topic, and a bullet that I did not dodge. I’m a guy who doesn’t believe in sex outside of marriage, so the last thing I want to do is talk about sex outside of marriage. Or sex at all really. I’m devout, but I’m not dead, so a topic like this is really just rubbing salt in the wound.

The one thing that made it all easier to take was remembering that I was originally assigned to teach the following lesson, but those in charge realized that “Having a Successful Marriage” might be a bit much to expect of me. Not that they thought I couldn’t do a good job, but I’m sure the possibility of my saying “The first step in having a good marriage is not hooking up with a closeted lesbian” crossed a couple of minds. Not that I would have said it, but pretty much everyone at church figured out a long time ago what happened and it would have gotten one heck of a laugh if I did.

So that leaves my last lesson of the year. Talking about Joseph Smith really ought to be a fine lesson in and of itself. My humor in this one comes from the fact that the lesson will be on Veteran’s Day, which oddly enough is the anniversary of my divorce. Yes, due to some significant screw ups in scheduling on the part of my local court, I wound up having my divorce finalized in front of a judge on a Federal holiday, which truly I think is pretty cool.

So it’s a hat trick for teaching lessons this year. Each one has managed  to somehow hit me directly in the divorced guy part of my person. But the great thing is that I don’t mind. I find it pretty funny really.

We Need a Representative from that Group

Egads…Start ramping up for a birthday party for your 14-year-old and suddenly you’re five days out from your last blog entry. That, and some evenings just saying "I really don’t feel like my brain is firing on enough cylinders to do this justice." Like I’ve been doing it justice anyway. I really want it to have "Walking Tall" justice though. You know, the kind that says "You’ll respect this topic because it deserves it and I say so."

Yeah, the kids are all gone at Brokeback’s place and I’ve been watching some cable television.

But before watching The Rock* dispense justice this evening, I was at a single adult committee meeting for all the congregations of my church in this area. I wasn’t really looking forward to it. Much. At all. Truthfully, I was completely dreading it. At thirty-eight I am by far the youngest person on the committee, and after my daughter’s party I was feeling even younger. I was just sitting by and letting her and her friends goof off and have fun when a boy she invited started asking a bit about my computer setup. I started giving him specs and talking all the tech talk. Then they all started digging in my MP3 collection with lots of "oohs" and "ahhs" over the music I have. I had suddenly achieved my life-long goal of being cool with all the middle school kids, albeit twenty-five years late. So the prospect of meeting with a group where the median age is somewhere in the mid-sixties was an incredibly un-appealing follow-up.

Making the prospect of the meeting even less attractive was the knowledge that we were to begin planning the January event. A night of singing and music. All performed by other people so that we, the singles, can sit and listen politely. Much like a service activity where a group of youth go sing to shut-ins at the home. Something that people not having personal ownership of either a walker or a shawl would be remotely interested in. In short, I was going to participate in a meeting where I would not only be peering in upon, but also personally helping to architect one of my own personal levels of hell.

I was not stoked.

The meeting began much as I had expected. Some pleasantries, followed but some meandering thoughts to open the discussion. Then a period wherein my thoughts mostly centered on how hard I would have to beat my head on the table in front of me before blood would start trickling out of my ears. That thought would then turn to an internal debate over whether it would be possible at all to inflict that level of damage to my head since this was one of those long tables with fold-out legs made mostly of platic with a thin metal frame. The kind they use for stunts in pro wrestling. They crash through them and blood never comes out of their ears, so I’d probably just make a lot of noise and never be able to beat myself into unconsciousness as an escape from the begginings of conversation over refreshments for an activity four months in the future.

At about that point in the meeting though, the second-youngest person on the committee (missing me by something around a decade) interjected something from a telephone conversation he and I had a couple weeks ago. "With some of the things we do I really think we’re missing the ‘middle’ group of singles. The ones thirty to forty-five." I was not about to miss this opportunity.

"You know, I have to say that while I do appreciate all the effort that goes into this activity, I’m not interested in it. At all. I won’t be coming, and neither will anyone else in my age range." Talk about a conversation turner. This is my third time being part of planning this particular event, and while I have put some voice to this concern before, I’ve never done it so directly. And to the group’s credit, discussion quickly turned to questions of why I wouldn’t be interested and what we could do differently.

Answer to first question: Because I can’t think of anything more boring or soul-sucking than feeling I have to import people to make me feel like I’m not a social outcast.

Answer to second question: Plan something that I can do sooner than four freaking months from now.

Now, while I may not have put my thoughts in exactly those terms, I believe the point did make it across. People in the thirty to forty-five demographic have different interests, and would like to be social with each other so as to, perhaps, meet someone new with whom to spend their lives. It’s a novel concept, but as a church we are terrible, bad, awful at supporting our singles in having a social life with other singles within the church. We’re so worried about making sure that they don’t sleep with each other outside of marriage that we give them nothing to come to so as to insure that they sleep with people outside the church instead. As surprising as it may sound, that approach is not being met with a terrible lot of success, with the end result being that many of our divorced or never-married singles leave and never return.

All of this dicussion seemed to be making sense to everyone, and some good ideas were starting to be generated. Then at one point, someone interjected, "We should get someone from that age group here as a representative."

sigh…While it may not be perfect, at least it’s progress

 

* You didn’t think I’d be talking about Joe Don Baker, did you? And…yep. Right there, you’re too young for me again, aren’t you?

Na na na na na na…You say it’s your birthday

September 11, 2001 is a date with a lot of national significance. It’s also a date with a lot of personal significance for me, because today is my oldest daughter’s fourteenth birthday. She happens to also be a Beatles fan, so my cheesy title get a little sentimentality sprinkled on top. I’m a sucker for that kind of stuff. I also tolerate chick flicks well, so it’s a wonder that I’m still single.

Six years ago my business was still newish, and operated completely out of the front room of my home. This meant, of course, that it wasn’t unusual to have the news on. Which meant that on 9-11 I was glued to the television. I was dumbfounded and angry. Then numb. And then…and then I remembered that my oldest was having a birthday at school right then and there. It was her eighth birthday, which for the unintiated is pretty important in the Mormon world. It’s the age at which kids are baptized, and my daughter had been very much looking forward to this birthday.

She came home that afternoon, and the look on her face said it all. “How was your birthday?” I asked.

“It sucked”, she replied.

A very to-the-point answer. She’s good at those. If it had been me, I probably would have said, “Like a shop vac, alternately sucking and blowing.”   But “It sucked” satisfied the need just fine, because as she began to explain, she had already realized that for pretty much the rest of her forseeable life, her birthday would be inextricably linked to a national tragedy. And it bummed her out. Big time.

For the following three years until the emotional tidal wave of divorce hit, she would start openly bemoaning how the news stories of the anniversary were popping up and ruining her birthday. As a young kid it’s hard to keep things in their proper perspective of course, and your birthday is supposed to be celebrated with songs that don’t come in a minor key.

Life is a cruel educator though, and with my divorce there was a lot to process. So this year I’m happy to say that there was no complaint of a birthday being ruined. Instead she made cupcakes to take into class for her birthday, ready to share “her” day with “our” day. She has grown into a fine young lady. I’m proud that at fourteen, she sees that the world doesn’t revolve around just her. Or at least not completely. Not bad for a teenager of today.

So happy birthday, kiddo. I’m a proud dad.

I’m Not Sure Who I Should Be Embarassed For More

So I’ve mentioned before that I used to run my own business. It wasn’t a multi-million dollar multinational conglomerate or anything, but we did reasonably well. I did, however, do work with some multi-million dollar multinational conglomerates during that time. One of them was MTV. Yes, the MTV.

More precisely, I was brought in to do work with MTV that then fell apart. Twice. For two years, back-to-back, they brought me in to work on developing some cool web toys for the VMAs. They were always ambitious projects that would be really cool, and that somewhere along the line fell apart under the weight of their own internal disorganization, and frankly, their own corporate shallowness. The entire MTV mindset is about perpetuating a vapid culture of partying and celebrity voyeurism.

I’ve never been mad that those projects fell apart coming out of the gate. I only tell you all of that to tell you this:

I should have known better. Tonight, I should have known what I was going to get before I even got it. I went in to watching the VMAs specifically looking for something, then got it and more. I was looking for what all the rest of the sideline voyeurs were looking for. I was looking to see a Britney trainwreck live and in person. My mom and my sisters are gasping, guffawing, and holy-cowing over me, I’m sure. But I was somehow drawn, like a moth to a flame. And as they say at the infamous Smithee Awards, some things you just can’t un-see.

What I saw was proof that the entertainment industry is coming back around to accepting performers that aren’t super-skinny and instead look like normal people with a few extra pounds here and there. That’s the good part, as our society has what could certainly be called a strange body image. What I also saw was that those same people shouldn’t be doing stage performances in an outfit comprised solely of rhinestone-covered hoochie shorts and sports bra. I also saw that if such people do decide to do such a performance anyway, they should make sure that they don’t look periodically lost while on stage. It leads to the on-air audience having the same reaction as the at-home audience: utter bewilderment.

But then again, I got what I tuned in for. Which begs the question of who should be more embarassed? Me, or Britney?

The answer of course is that it’s probably me. Britney finished her stint on stage, smiled, said thank you, and then hustled off faster than Wile E. Coyote’s would-be dinner. I, however, continued to watch the VMAs, mysteriously paralyzed in wonder at the possibility of how insipid things could become. How much harder would they try and make this seem like a serious awards show? Would any of the presenters or recipients ever act like they actually cared about any of it? How many times would Justin Timberlake get away with saying “I challenge MTV to play more music videos, because we’re not interested in this lame reality show stuff”? (The answer was either two or three. My brain was too damaged by the end to be sure, and I still can’t guarantee it wasn’t a stunt organized by MTV in the first place.)

I was grateful for a brief reprieve from the obvious lip-synching everyone did when Alicia Keys actually sang. Then only to be disappointed again by having her ovation afterward enhance by canned applause. But, this is MTV, and I had no reason to be surprised. I knew who I was dealing with. I knew what I was asking for. And that’s the worst part. The VMAs epitomizes the basest of our culture. Radical jihadists get extra bent out of shape because they think all Americans are like MTV. And I participated. Which probably makes me something of an idiot.

So let me say up front that when I write about MTV again in a month, it won’t be because they sucked me in like an idiot. The other thing I saw during the VMAs, the thing for the new show they have coming, has my blood boiling. But I’ll hold off until I can see it for myself once so as to blast it appropriately.

Only 14 Months of Disappointment to Go

I’m a politically conservative guy. Some may say “Well duh. You’re Mormon. Of course you’re conservative.” Oh how wrong you are to think that! I’ve known a few liberally-minded Mormons over the years. Mind you, they’re rare as a snowfall in Southtown, and half of those I’ve known are relatives of Brokeback, but they do exist.

So being a conservative type, I thought it might be a good idea to watch the Republican candidates debate each other last night. Get informed and see who I’d be willing to back. All that good stuff. I had been thinking I would like Mitt Romney based on some of the stuff I’ve heard from him in the past. Giulliani is someone that I have a hard time backing largely because my personal background with marriage. Cheats tend to put me off. But that’s just me. Plenty of people don’t have a problem with cheaters at all. McCain I just don’t get.

What I came away with instead was the following summary for the GOP hopefuls:

• Sam Brownback
  Nice guy with what sounds like reasonable thoughts. Not a chance in hell of getting elected.
• Rudy Giuliani
  He has a lot in his personal life to live down before I’d be comfortable with him.
• Mike Huckabee
  Got the most points from me for his very passionate, and obviously honest (or Oscar-worthy) position on the honor of our country and us as a people. Also not a chance in hell of getting elected. He’s talking about honor in a presidential race, after all.
• Duncan Hunter
  The robo-candidate. If this guy sounded any more cold or calculating, he’d be a liquid-cooled processor in a high-end computer (geek reference). While his ideas didn’t sound bad, he’s the perfect charicature of the cold-hearted Republican that more liberal people love to paint.
• John McCain
  He’s a great centrist Democrat. A man that panders this much shouldn’t be trusted to walk my dog, let alone run my country.
• Ron Paul
  Good freaking grief. If John McCain is a centrist Democrat, this guy is the DNC chairman. I have no idea what he’s doing in the Republican party, let alone trying to win a nomination in it.
• Mitt Romney
  What happened to the Mitt of a few months back that was affable, casual, and easily spoke his mind? He looked like he had a broomstick under his shirt, a corn cob up his butt, and a hand in the back of his neck making his mouth move. If a man can’t be himself, he’s hard to trust.
• Tom Tancredo
  Was he in this debate? He was? Was he dressed up as one of the other candidates or something?
• Fred Thompson
  He wasn’t even on the debate. He hadn’t even announced his candidacy yet. But somehow he still got as much or more attention in the debate than everyone else. That alone probably puts him ahead of all the others, even though I don’t know a thing that he stands for yet.

So the short version is that there were a bunch of nice guys that finish last, stealth Democrats, and political weasels on the stage. And one guy who seems to know how to play them all like a fiddle so far not even showing up. If this is what the Republican party has to offer, the next year-plus is going to drag on for a long time.

I am the David Hasselhoff of Ghana

Seriously, it’s the only thing that can explain what I’m going to talk about. No, I’ve never been to Ghana (or anywhere else on the African continent) but hear me out.

So David Hasselhoff, the Knight Rider and lifeguard extraordinaire, is know here in the U.S. of A. mostly for being a cheesy, B-grade television hack. And recently a drunken trainwreck on YouTube courtesy of his own daughters. He’s all class. But one thing he has never been to us is a music star. No matter how he has tried, he’s never been a musical sensation in America.

Germany, on the other hand, is an entirely different matter. There, he’s a star. He was invited to perform at the celebration for the tearing down of the Berlin wall.* He’s a part of a nation’s history. David. Freaking. Hasselhoff.

What does that have to do with me and Ghana? Well, here in the states I’ve done some pretty cool stuff. I have great kids. I’ve done award-winning work in my field on several occassions. I’ve even had my own business with employees and everything. But meeting people online? On the Mormon dating sites, where I would hope to meet nice, like-minded single Mormon women? Not so much. I’ve never been a sensation in America.

Ghana, on the other hand, is an entirely different matter. There, I seem to be a star. Any time I’m on the LDS dating sites and leave my status as "available" or "online" for a little while (usually while I’m doing some moonlight work in the evening) I’ll get chat requests. And every time, every one of them, usually go like this (with a little sidebar commentary sprinkled in):

abodam0244: hello
abodam0244: hello
finitemonkey: hello
abodam0244: Hi
abodam0244: How are you doing ?
finitemonkey: Doing alright. How about you?
abodam0244: well good
abodam0244: what your name ?
abodam0244: I am Rose but i prefer to be called
rose
finitemonkey: I prefer not to give out my name so
soon when meeting someone

I thought it was nice of her to let me know that, although her actual name is "Rose", she prefers to be called "rose". And I’m sure the "what your name?" line was just a typo, since her profile says she’s an educator with a high school diploma. Obviously I’m a little colder than "rose" on meeting people, but you have to be careful about Internet security after all. So the conversation continues:

abodam0244: Well okay
finitemonkey: So how is NY today?
abodam0244: Well okay
abodam0244: But i am not in new york now
abodam0244: I left there
finitemonkey: Really? So where are you now?
abodam0244: yes
abodam0244: Ghana
finitemonkey: Why did you list NY as your location
then?
abodam0244: Well i was in there

Now here I’m disappointed with "rose". It wasn’t unexpected, since this seems to be how all my chats go though. I don’t have anything against women in Ghana, so I wish they would just put it in their profile instead of New York or something.

abodam0244: So what are you looking for ?
finitemonkey: Someone that isn’t trying to phish
information or get a zombie installed on my machine.

I might have been a bit rude here, but while I don’t have anything personal against the women of Ghana, they do seem to have quite the propensity for these kinds of activities. It really is a shame too. As for what I’m looking for? Who knows. Maybe I should have tried chatting with "phonelove" when she sent me a message.

finitemonkey: I’ve reported you for abuse. You might
as well start working on your new account now.
abodam0244: Why?
abodam0244: you are a fool
abodam0244: stupid man

This was the end of my relationship with "rose". It’s been bothering me for days. Days. What if she had been my sould mate? What if I just brushed off THE ONE out of foolish fear of phishing? Obviously I’ll never be able to rekindle our brief romance now that she thinks I’m a fool and stupid.

But it’s okay. There will be more. I know, because in Ghana, I’m a star.

 

*For those of you too young to remember the Berlin wall, you likely fall into the "single but too young for you" category (drattit)

Single Mormon male

One of the things most important to we Mormons is family. Many people have at one time or another known a Mormon family with 10 or 13 kids and said “Geez, what’s up with those Mormons?” We like family. Family is a good thing. It’s why E. and I link back to each others’ blogs, talk regularly, and all that jazz. It’s not “I think I’ll have 13 kids” important to everyone, but you get the idea. It’s a cornerstone in our religious beliefs.

So a couple years ago my applecart got upset when my ex-wife decided to become just that. My ex-wife. Leaving me with the dreaded mid-thirties moniker of “single and Mormon”.

Many guys in my position would go “Woo-hoo! Time for a party and to find a new girl! That woman was a pain in the butt to me for way too long. FREEDOM!” But see, I never wanted any of that. I was very happy being a husband and father, and never wanted anything otherwise. In retrospect there were a lot of things that I should have wanted to be different, and that I do want and expect in a relationship now, but at the time I just didn’t know better. And I didn’t want to know better. (Bleah…even typing that now my old self sounds like such an insecure shmoe.)

If you haven’t already inferred, the divorce had nothing to do with anything I did. Believe me. I may not have been the perfect husband (and who ever is?) but this had nothing to do with me. I’ll just leave it at that, except to say that the ex’s name on E’s blog isn’t “Brokeback” for nothin’. But the first, big problem with being a divorced, male Mormon is that most everyone is pretty ready with the assumption that you were the one that did something to send things south. Now, my self-confidence is way better now than it had been for many years, but it still takes a bit of a hit feeling that many women think of you as a potential villain right out of the gate. I know that non-Mormon guys also deal with this to some extent, but it’s not quite the same when you consider my next problem with being a single Mormon guy…

I only want to date a nice, Mormon girl. In some parts of the country *cough*-Utah-*cough* this might not be as big a deal. But here in the big city nearest to Cooterville, it’s a bit of a sticky wicket. You see, as I mentioned, family is important to Mormons. So much so that many usually start them early. As in Brokeback and I were married at 19 and 22, respectively. By the time she headed for different pastures (wow…there’s a double-entendre if ever there was one) we had four children. So what this means to the single Mormon guy is that, in an area where selection can already be a tad restricted when you’re younger, most everyone is already married when you’re in your mid-to-late thirties. Those that aren’t typically seem to fall into one of five areas:

• I’m single, divorced, and too young for you.
• I’m single, never been married, and there’s a reason. A damn good one.
• I’m single, have kids of my own, and want a guy who doesn’t have any kids of his own so that he’ll only worship mine.
• I’m single, don’t have kids, and am really not wanting to be a step-mom. Ever. It would interfere with my mountain biking and world traveling.
• I’m single, with kids or without, could be perfect, but live really, really, really far away.

Which is the next point for the single Mormon guy. Though this one really goes for any guy that really loves his kids, I’m sure. I can’t move. I have half-custody, and would never give that up for anything. They are my kids, after all. Which is why point five above is a real tough one.

It isn’t that there aren’t single Mormon women around my area. There are. I’m sure of it. But they’re like Bigfoot. No, no, not big and hairy and ugly. Not all of them anyway. But they’re hidden. The church might try to put on activities for the singles to lure them out to get to meet each other, but it’s a clumsy effort something like a group of hunters putting on a bunch of Old Spice before heading into the woods. The singles in their thirties smell the scent of old people doing the activity planning and they run. Unless you’re me of course. Then you get sucked into the planning committee where all your observations of “Guys, I know the rest of you are all old enough to at least be my parents, but this idea sounds really geriatric” are blissfully ignored.

I have hope that there might be some relief on the way though. I saw an online profile for a woman in Colorado Springs that has been spearheading a pilot test of a 28-45 singles program in her area for the church. Planning activities targeted for that age range might bring all the male and female Sasquatch out of hiding. I wrote her through the singles site where I saw her profile, asking for more information about the program.

I haven’t heard from her though. Probably because I’m really, really, really far away.