Weenis of the Week

I've been behind on posting a Weenis of the Week lately. I finally found something I feel is worthy of weenis status.



The fool who actually TRIED USING A CURLING IRON TO CURL THEIR EYELASHES, prompting the necessity of having to label every single curling iron ever manufactured, is a WEENIS.

The worst part of this stupidity is knowing the curling iron company probably got sued and had to pay a huge settlement to the weenis who did this to themselves.

The second worst part is knowing that I won't be taking this label off of my own curling iron. And I don't know why.

I forgot to mention a few things...

The weeks before Christmas were so busy for me with finishing portraits and then cramming Christmas shopping, wrapping, and preparation into one week, that I didn't have time to post on a few interesting happenings.

My son was asked by my boss to come work on a Saturday with the guys as they took advantage of the nice weather to do a concrete pour on one of our jobs. I warned him to not complain, and to work hard, because someday soon he may want to try working construction during the summers to make more money than he would if he worked a fast food job someplace, for instance. His job was to set pins or something, I'm not sure. After his shift, I asked him how it went and if he had fun and worked hard. He said it went well.

He said there was a big silence while they worked, so he said to my co-workers, "So, did my mom tell you we're not Mormon anymore?"

I had to laugh. Trust J. to create an awkward moment just for the fun of it. He said none of them knew (religion just doesn't pop up in conversation much) and some of them talked about Mormons a bit...one of my co-workers has some family who are Mormon who ask him to attend things and to read the Book of Mormon regularly. He just says no. The next Monday, only one of my co-workers mentioned J. had said that. I said, "Yeah, I learned some stuff about the history and origins of Mormonism that didn't impress me, and that they never teach you about, so I decided it just isn't for me." He just shrugged and chuckled. Like I said, religion doesn't really enter our conversations around here much.

I wondered if my boss (whom I interact with most at work) was there that Saturday to hear my son's admission. I asked him if he had heard J.'s comment, and he said no, and I just explained the same thing, that I found stuff out and just didn't want to keep supporting a church that hides such stuff from its membership. He just said, "Huh. Interesting." It hasn't changed anything for me at work. They respect me as a worker, not as a Mormon.

Another interesting thing happened. I took my kids shopping at Target and when we walked in there was a family from my ward standing there. I said hi and smiled and wished them a Merry Christmas and moved on. In the toy section, I saw some kids from a large family in my ward. One boy was brought to me by his sister, and she prompted him to say, "Hi Sister Frank!" I smiled and told him how good it was to see him, and asked him if he was ready for Christmas to get here. He was one of my favorites in primary. Cute little white haired boy.

Then I walked around the corner a few minutes later and there stood my bishop and his wife. I smiled a huge smile and walked up to them, and we talked about Christmas and their daughter who's having her first baby, and basic small talk. They were very kind, and it was nice to talk to them. Apparently there had been a ward party that evening at someone's house, where each family adopted a family in need from the shelter, and bought their Christmas for them. That explained why so many from the ward were there shopping. I saw two more acquaintences from church and said hi in passing after that.

A few days later, I was standing in line at the post office in the doorway where people had to pass me to get out. One person turned away from the counter and it was a teacher in primary. I smiled at her as she recognized me, and she said, "Hi! I haven't seen you in a while!" I said, "No, I haven't been there in a while." She just said, "Oh...Merry Christmas!" and I returned the greeting and that was that.

And now, my good friends from my old ward (4 years ago) have invited us over to dinner. We get together about twice a year, and it's that time again. Our families became close because 1. he was my bishop for years in that old ward, 2. she and I were visiting teaching partners for years, 3. we are the same age, 4. she and I worked in the primary presidency together for years, and 5. he was my home teacher for maybe 5 years, even before he became bishop. He is the only home teacher I've had who ever actually took the time to get to know us well.

He was my bishop in whose office I sat with my husband, and whom I cried my guts out in front of because I'd just been blindsided with the church's rule that my non-member husband had to give me his permission in writing in order for me to attend the temple to take out my endowment. I don't think I've ever felt more humiliation than I did that night, there in front of my friend, being denied permission for something that was really important to me.

I wonder if they know that I'm not going to church anymore. If they do, they may ask me about it. If they don't, surely this question will come up in conversation: "So what calling do you have now?" and I will tell them, "I don't have one...because I don't go to church anymore."

This could be very interesting.

The rest, as they say, is history.

You seemed to demand want a continuation of my history that was prompted by my memories of the BYU Honor Code that I wrote about before due to Pete's tag. So here it is, without further ado...

I discovered I was pregnant, and I was alone at BYU with 5 roommates from Utah. I knew the next few months would not be fun.

I had missed a period the month before, and since I wasn't exactly regular anyway, and since we had used condoms, I just figured the reason was due to my stress and depression over two things: 1) the guy I loved had moved back home to Chile for good, and 2) I found out my mom had re-married my dad without telling anyone first.

I was so sad and listless once he left. I didn't want to do anything. I went to class, did homework, worked, ate, slept. I was way more tired than usual, but anyone who has been depressed knows this is common. Little did I know that the tiredness was due to the changes going on inside my body.

A few weeks after he left, I got a devastating phone call from my sister. I remember standing in the kitchen and answering the phone. Her first words were, "Mom didn't come home last night, none of us knew where she was, and today she called to tell us that she and dad got married." I immediately started crying and wailing "Noooooo. Ooooooohhh, noooooo. Oh sweetheart, I'm soooooo sorry." My sister and I were bawling to each other on the phone, because we knew. We knew. This was horrible. One of my roommates came running and thought someone close to me had died. It felt exactly as if someone had.

I grew up in an extremely dysfunctional family. My dad was a traveling salesman who was gone about 5 days of every week. Life was good while he was gone, then he'd come home and we'd find ourselves walking on eggshells all day, holding our breath, waiting for the inevitable axe to fall. Life sucked until he'd leave again. He was the most controlling, anal, compulsive man I've ever known. He was emotionally (and at times physically) abusive to all of us, although some got it more than others. I was one of the (lucky) ones he didn't abuse as bad. My mom would often confide in my brother and me (we were the two oldest) about her unhappiness and wishes for divorce, and we would beg her to do it, to no avail.

She finally did it after I got home from Austria and went away to BYU. I know it was a struggle for her to be alone, and I've learned over time that she's simply someone who isn't completely happy alone. She had a hysterectomy after the divorce, and I think she was feeling weak and down, and he took advantage of her weak moment and that was all it took. I was seriously devastated. I have five younger brothers and sisters whom I knew would end up being the ones most hurt by this...She didn't tell anyone beforehand, because she knew she was doing it against better judgement, and without our support. I think she also knew we'd be able to talk her out of it if she told us in advance. I remember going out to my car after the phone call and sobbing harder than I'd ever cried in my life. I have never felt so helpless in my life as I did right then.

So, after the trauma of these two events in my life, it was just icing on the cake to go to work and find myself sick over the smell of barbecue sauce. The day after work, I drove to a store far from anyplace my roommates or I shopped, and bought myself a home pregnancy test. I took it back to my apartment in a brown paper bag.

It read Positive

Next day, different store, different brand, different paper bag.

Same results.

Up until now I hadn't even had my first visit to the gynecologist. I had no idea what to do. I drove to Planned Parenthood. They gave me another pregnancy test and helped me determine how far along I probably was. My dad's words kept running through my head like a mantra: "Any of you who comes home pregnant is no daughter of mine."

It was a full two months before I got up enough nerve to make a phone call to my brother, Eric. He commented this about my first BYU post:

WOW! Although I knew most details of this story, I can't help but feel like I was reading one of the books you or Mom used as an "escape" prior to you taking up art once again! My Pavlovian instinct was to speed to the "good parts" until I remembered I was reading about my little sister!! SHUDDER!!! HaHa!

As for your potty mouth. I believe it was your Utah County assimilation that helped you break your little news to me:

Lisa: "oh my HECK eric! you are a crack up!"
Eric: "Wow! Did you just say OH-MY-HECK! Utah has made you so Molly!"
Lisa: "What do you mean by that?"
Eric: "NO ONE says oh my heck unless you are totally Molly! You're just so - GOOD!"
Lisa: "You don't know me that well"
Eric: "Pshaaaa, NO ONE knows you better than me."
Lisa voice starting to shake: "Eric, I'm not THAT good."
Eric, confused by the sudden change of tone: "Whatever Lisa, you're the most Molly - EVER!" Desperately trying to lighten the mood.
Lisa: "No Eric, you don't know but I'm not good like you think."
Eric: "Why? What makes you not good?"
Lisa: "I've done things?"
Eric: "Ummm, WHAT kind of things?"
Lisa: "The WORST thing you CAN do Bwwwaaaah!" "And I think I'm pregnant."
Eric: "Ohh, Lisa. It's going to be alright."

Note that I called Eric first. We were best friends our whole lives, and I think he knows me better than probably anyone. By this time I was almost 3 months along, and I knew that soon I'd start to show, and I'd have to get out of there. I knew that I couldn't maintain my status at BYU and be an unwed mother. So I had to go home and start over. After calling Eric at his apartment, I phoned home, and of course my dad answered, and he put Mom on the phone too. I broke the news to them as best as I could around my feelings of shame and horror at what I'd done. (Remember I'm only describing how I felt at the time, I don't find it shameful now that I look back). My parents were shocked but they agreed it was best if I came home, and we'd figure it all out together.

I went to the BYU offices and told them I was quitting for medical reasons, and it was fairly easy. I had some thought in my mind that maybe they'd see through my lie and I'd be exposed. But nothing like that happened.

I told all my roommates some inane lie about needing help financially and that I was backing out of school for the time being to go home until I could get back to school.

And I went home. I don't recall really if my parents drove down to pick me up, or if it was Eric...he'd remember. That whole time was a big blur to me.

Once I returned home, I lived with my parents and they were pretty supportive while I decided what I was going to do. I got a job doing the books part time at Albertsons, a job which I did until about 7 years ago. My dad was a lot more vocal in his disgust that some "creep" would get me pregnant...he really hated him for doing that to me. He was so vocal about it I finally had to say something like, "Um, Dad, you do recognize that I also played a part in getting pregnant, right? It takes two... If you feel that way about him, then you must feel that way about me. If so, just say it." He finally quit the snide comments.

I made an appointment with my bishop. The minute I sat down and he asked me, "What can I do for you?" I started sobbing and it all came out...I was pregnant and needed to repent. He was very kind and understanding. I got one year formal probation which meant no callings, and no partaking of the sacrament for one year. I agreed. It was the hardest thing I had ever done. Looking back, I feel so sorry for bishops who are kind like he was. I would HATE having people confess that kind of thing to me, expecting me to judge them.

All my life I've felt like that sin and repentance process brought me closer to Jesus, for I had experienced the worst suffering I'd ever felt, and afterward it was easy for me to imagine Jesus bleeding from every pore for my sins. If he felt that anguish I felt, times all the people throughout the history of the world, then that was huge indeed.

I struggled with wondering if I was good enough to be a single parent of a baby. I wondered if it was less selfish of me to give my baby up for adoption rather than subject him to the stigma of being a "bastard" and being raised by only one parent who may or may not be good at parenting alone. I had to consider my own parents and I sincerely worried I'd be just like them. I saw a poster for LDS Social Services at church, and I scheduled an appointment with the social worker. I told myself that it was wisdom to look at all my options before making a decision. That way I could choose with full knowledge, and would never wonder later if I had made the right choice.

He was kind, and explained the procedure to me. They would do an open adoption, where I could help review applications and choose who was to get my baby. But once the deed was done, I'd never be able to contact my baby again. The law in Montana is such that a woman has to wait 3 full days before she can legally give her baby up for adoption. I would lie awake at night and envision myself holding my baby for three days, and then handing him over to strangers to raise. I didn't know if I could do something so selfless. The pain of just imagining it was almost too much to bear. This baby was conceived in love, and I felt so much love for the baby the minute I knew I was pregnant, even though I knew my life would be in upheaval because of it. And I always thought of my baby as a boy. It never even occurred to me I'd have a girl. Every time I passed the baby clothes section in a store, it was the boy clothes I looked at and dreamed about.

One day, a woman from our ward came over to our house unexpectedly. She told me that she knew I was talking to LDS Social Services about possibly giving my baby up for adoption, and she had a son who was married and lived in Utah...and they couldn't have children.....and would it be possible........

Every single motherly instinct I never knew I had reared up and shouted NO!!! at the same time. I knew in that instant that there was no way in hell I would ever give my baby up for adoption. It was all I could do to sit there and look into her desperate mother eyes. I wanted to throw up.

So I let LDS Social Services know of my decision, and began to prepare in earnest for life as a mother with a baby. My mom, bless her sweet heart, took Lamaze classes with me. It was lots of fun. I was the only single mother in the class. I didn't note any judgemental glances from anyone else. People were very kind.

At this time, my mom's best friend had a son who had served his mission in Chile. He was the resident expert on all things Chilean. We found out that Chile is a country where Moms Rule. The matriarch in that society rules the household. I had seen the movie "Not Without my Daughter" during my pregnancy, and I was paranoid and worried about what would happen once I let the man who got me pregnant know about it. We had ended our relationship when he moved, and knew that we weren't destined to be together, but when you are pregnant with someone's baby, you feel things and worry and wonder more than you want to. And the hormones that a woman deals with while pregnant are a big factor too: funny things are way funnier than they usually are, sad things are way more sad, and when something makes you happy, what you feel is definitely out of proportion to what you should be feeling. So my feelings of paranoia were much worse than they should have or would have been otherwise. I worried that I would be forced to share custody of my baby, or that they'd want to take him and raise him themselves. It was irrational, but what I was feeling at the time.

So when I was about 8 months pregnant, I went to Eric's apartment, and asked to be alone to make my phone call. I broke out in a cold sweat and prayed three times for courage before I called Chile. A woman answered in Spanish, and I had to ask to speak to him 3 times before he finally got on the phone.

"Lisa, hiiii! How are you doing? Wow! I can't believe I'm really talking to you!"

"I'm doing fine. It's good to talk to you, too."

"Wow! So what's new? Do you have a boyfriend yet?"

"Uhhhhh, no.....Do you have a girlfriend?" What the hell?? That wasn't what I had expected him to say.

"No, but I've been trying!"

"Oh. Well. Heh heh. Um. Good luck with that."

"Thanks!"

....

"Um, listen, maybe you should sit down because I called to tell you I'm 8 months pregnant with your baby." My heart was beating out of my chest.

"What?!........Seriously? Wow. Really?....." A big pause as he sat down and digested what I had said. "Wow. Is there anything I can do? Do you need anything?"

I had rehearsed this line many times in my mind before calling..."No. I don't need anything or want anything from you. I just figured you had a right to know."

He sat there stunned. I could hear him breathing. "Are you sure you don't need anything? Wow. I can't believe this. Whoa."

"I don't need anything from you. I'm due April 12th.. I moved back to Montana so you may want my phone number and address."

"Yeah, I'll call you. Wow. I can't believe this. Wow. You're sure you don't need anything from me?"

"I'm sure."

"I'll call you. I promise."

"OK. That'd be nice."

"OK, well, bye, then. Good luck."

"Thanks. Goodbye."

2 weeks before my due date, I woke up one morning at 5 a.m. to sharp contractions. I drew a warm bath and soaked in order to relax and see if the pains would go away. They didn't. We drove to the hospital at 9 a.m., and were admitted into a room. I was a big baby about pain. Maybe this was because my parents were in there with me, I don't know, but I remember not feeling very brave, and not wanting to walk around because the contractions hurt so bad. My dad was a pharmaceutical representative (he sold drugs to doctors) so he told the doctor to give me Stadol, a pseudo-narcotic. Of course, this made me so out of it, I hardly remember anything except crying a weird cry that I've never heard myself do since. Strange. I don't remember much...I think that drug made me sleep between contractions.

It was taking about an hour and a half to increase one centimeter in dilation...and I was so tired. Finally at 3:45 p.m. the nurse checked me and said I was only dilated to 6. I was sick of it, and knew I'd never hold out any longer if it was to be another 6 hours to reach a dilation of 10. So (using my Damien voice) I said the words many women have come to rely on:

Give. Me. An. Epidural. NOW.

The nurse inserted the I.V. thing into the veins on the back of my hand, and left to go get the anesthesiologist. After she left, suddenly my body pushed. I say "my body" pushed because that's what it felt like: heaves you get and can't control, much like when you throw up. I told my mom that I thought I had just wet the bed. She looked and knew immediately that things were happening. She ran and got the nurse. My body pushed again.

The nurse came quickly and noticed that the baby's head was already crowning. She ran to the door of my room and yelled at them to get a doctor in here, QUICK! She ran back to me and said, "Don't you DARE push!" My body pushed again, and there was no way I could stop it. She said, "Breathe like you're blowing out a candle. That will help you not to push." I thought she was insane, but I tried anyway. It helped knowing that if I didn't stop pushing, one of my parents or the nurse was going to be delivering this baby.

The doctor arrived. He had just enough time to put on a pair of gloves: 4:00 p.m., just one push later, my baby boy was born. It had been 15 minutes from a dilation of 6 to delivery.

I had been told by Mr. Chile that he'd call me when I was due, so I waited for his call. It never came. I finally went back to my brother's house and called him again, when my son was about 3 or 4 weeks old.

A guy answered the phone who sounded just like Mr. Chile. He also had a brother who was a year older than him, so it may have been the brother, I don't know. He kept speaking Spanish, which I didn't understand.

"Is Mr. Chile there? It's Lisa from Montana."

More Spanish.

"Is Mr. Chile there? It's Lisa from Montana."

More Spanish.

"Is Mr. Chile there? It's Lisa from Montana."

Finally he broke into perfect English. "J's on vacation in Santiago right now. Would you like to leave him a message?"

What could I say? There was no way I was going to leave the message, "IT'S A BOY!!" So instead I said, "Please have him call me as soon as possible."

I never heard from him again.

My pride wouldn't let me reach out one more time. For all I know, he died on that trip to Santiago. Or he was the one I was actually talking to, and didn't want to talk to me. Or he tried 10 times and my dad answered the phone every time and never told me about it. Whatever happened, I was officially alone. It was done.

I met and married Mr. SML when my son was 8 months old. He adopted my son when he was in Kindergarten.

And now you know The Rest of the Story.

God Bless Us, Every One

Well, I posted my e-mail to my dad on Friday, explaining to him that I don't believe in the church anymore. I expected an e-mail or phone call but got nothing until Saturday at 2:45 p.m. (he was supposed to have driven up to MT from UT on Saturday). He e-mailed my sister who had e-mailed him Saturday morning about her entire family being up all Friday night throwing up, and that he may want to stay at my house if he didn't want to catch the illness they have. Here is what he wrote to Tony and cc'd to me:

So sorry to hear you're having such trouble, just in time for the holidays! [Takes me back to the year I was quarantined at home in Kaysville with influenza the whole holiday week- What a drag!] Misery must be going around. I was up most of the night Thursday after watching the BYU bowl game with my brother Dave, and had a miserable day at work yesterday, so I just slept in today. My jeep's also sprung a leak in the cooling system, and it's not solved with the new upper radiator hose I installed, so I'll have to try something else to fix it. Guess this isn't going the way we'd have liked, huh. How about we just postpone the get-together up your way until we're all feeling better and can have more fun?? I'll use the time to catch up on some much-needed projects, do my taxes, etc. Perhaps I can take a four-day weekend trip up in the next month or two. Let me know if there are any weekends you won't be home, OK? Give my love to all, and get feeling better soon!

- Love, Dad

[Great Grandma will be disappointed that I didn't get her offerings to you in time for Christmas. I'll add that to the long list of things I need forgiveness for. I'll mail you up a Christmas card to hopefully arrive in time for New Year's....]

Great. My dad would rather do his taxes than come up and stay with me. The sad thing is, this may or may not have anything to do with my note to him. It probably does, but not in the way one would expect. I suspect he couldn't care less about my belief or not in the church. He probably cares more what the church expects him to do or feel about me not believing, and is trying to figure that out before he does anything. Or his "long list of things I need forgiveness for" somehow relates to my apostasy...maybe he is thinking this is somehow his fault. But no, I doubt that too. My dad is a very complicated and strange individual. It is impossible for me to know what he's thinking since we don't have a close relationship.

My apostasy can't hurt him more than my choice to have my brother walk me down the aisle at my wedding, while I had my dad say the opening prayer. I may have to write about that some other time.

If he'd rather spend Christmas alone than come up here and be with people who love him, that's his choice. More power to him. And Eric, I still think you and Keith should just do your Christmas Day relaxing and hanging out as planned, and don't worry about being with Dad because you feel obligated somehow... Obviously he'd rather be alone over Christmas. He's a big boy. If he's lonely, let him hang out with HIS parent.

Just hit send...it'll be all right.

An e-mail I just sent a few minutes ago. He'll get it at work and at home.

Hi Dad,

I haven't heard much from you lately, but I hear you are still planning to come up for Christmas! The presents are wrapped and under the tree, so get up here quick and celebrate with us!!! We look forward to your visit. The Octoplog is a welcome addition to any party, as you know. Speaking of parties, we have a dinner at our house on Christmas Eve every year. Are you planning on staying at our house or Tony's?

I'm sorry to be giving you such news over e-mail, but it seems to be our best mode of communication...

I want to let you know that I've decided to leave the church. We quit going in September. I know this may be painful for you, and I don't want to hurt you at all. I hope you will be respectful of my right to choose for myself and my family what is best for us. I don't want this to ruin your Christmas, nor do I want it to create tension between us during your visit. Therefore, I will not be discussing this over the holiday. I hope you will also respect my privacy and not discuss this with Tonya either. She deserves to enjoy her much-needed break from work, and talking about me and my decision to leave the church will hardly be relaxing for her, or you. Plus she really doesn't care to discuss me with others. I'll be open to discussing it with you at a later time, if you wish.

Please know that I am truly happier now, and so are the kids. It is a joy to finally experience leading my own life, choosing my own path, and thinking for myself without all the answers handed to me.

I sincerely hope this will not prevent you from coming to visit. I felt like you would prefer to know now vs. finding out Sunday morning.

Please let me know when you plan to arrive so we can watch out for you!

With love, always.

Lisa

Honor at BYU? Are you kidding me?

I was young and innocent (for the most part) when I stepped foot on the BYU campus for the first time as a freshman in 1991. Little did I know that all that was about to change.

When you attend BYU, you are informed the first day that there is a certain standard that all students are expected to live by, whether you live in dorm housing or off campus. This standard is published and given to you at your new student orientation. It is called the Honor Code. This Honor Code may have even been part of the registration/application to BYU...I had to look it up to refresh my memory.

The first thing you read when you go to the BYU Honor Code website is this quote:

Stand me on the floor and draw a chalk line around me and have me give my word of honor never to cross it. Can I get out of the circle? No. Never! I'd die first! -Karl G. Maeser

Um, well, ahem, apparently I forgot about my little chalk circle, because BOY, DID I CROSS IT! This is what the Honor Code consists of:

As a matter of personal commitment, students, faculty, and staff of [all LDS Church-owned schools] seek to demonstrate in daily living on and off campus those moral virtues encompassed in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and will

1) Be honest
2) Observe Dress and Grooming Standards
3) Obey the law and all campus policies
4) Participate regularly in church services (except non-LDS students/faculty)
5) Live a chaste and virtuous life
6) Use clean language
7) Respect others
8) Abstain from alcoholic beverages, tobacco, tea, coffee, and substance abuse
9) Encourage others in their commitment to comply with the Honor Code

(numbers added by me for reference)

For me, it was a no-brainer. This would be easy. I walked into my apartment just off campus, and met my five roommates, all from Utah. Three were returned missionaries, and two were freshmen like me. I was born in Utah, but moved to Montana when I was six, so I consider myself a Montanan. There are a few obvious differences you notice when you are the only non-Utah person living in a household for the first time.

We were all standing in the kitchen that first evening, getting to know each other a little through conversation.

One girl said, "I get up at 5 a.m. so I can be to my early class on time."

My non-Utah upbringing reared its ugly head with no warning at all. "No way! That's the butt crack of dawn, for hell's sake!"

Suddenly the room was so quiet I could actually hear the breeze produced by five sets of eyelids blinking at me in shock and horror. I didn't even realize what was wrong -- I repeated what was said in my mind at lightning speed. It occurred to me these women were seriously offended that I had used the word HELL. Or butt crack. In Montana, hell isn't even considered a swear word. It's a place that you encounter at times much like I was experiencing RIGHT THEN.

"Oh, sorry. Did I swear?" They still just stared at me. I kind of laughed to cover the silence. I broke #6 of the Honor Code my first day at BYU. The shame. But hey, at least I gave my roommates their first chance to do #9 -- "Encourage others in their commitment to comply with the Honor Code." Wasn't that nice of me? But I quickly realized that I was consistently breaking #7 every time I'd hear my roommate Heather say "Holy Hannah!" or "Gracious Sakes!" during times I would have said, "Holy Shit!" or "What the Hell?"

In very little time I had become comfortable with college life. I dated more in the first two weeks of college than I did in all of high school and my year in Austria combined. What an experience! It was crazy. Everyone lusted after the son of Jack Weyland (an LDS novelist) who lived 3 doors down, but he never looked twice at me. But that didn't matter. I was learning fast the ways of my new world at BYU.

NCMO. The famous term (pronounced Nick-Mo) that stands for Non Committal Make Out. That awesomely pleasurable call of the wild we all answered while at BYU. The pheromones were virtually visible in the air. It was understood that a date meant automatic NCMO. I remember one such date with a Californian guy I knew from Vienna the year before when he was in the BYU Study Abroad program and I was an exchange student.

He had taken me on one date with a bunch of his classmates in Austria, and had chivalrously taken the train back to my home a half hour away, and even walked me to my house, only to find out that the train didn't run regularly on the outskirts of Vienna like it did in town. He had a two hour wait for the next train. So I walked him back to the train station and we sat there holding hands and talking. I was so inexperienced at dating that I just sat there chatting away, when all he wanted was NCMO, I'm sure. I think back and recognize the signs that I was oblivious to then. He never asked me out in Vienna again, since they went home to the states shortly thereafter.

Back at BYU, I ran into him again. We chatted, and I agreed to go on a group date with him and his friends to a hot springs he knew of in the mountains that would require a hike to get to. I went with him and this was the first really vivid NCMO I remember engaging in, probably my first little step off the edge into Breaking Honor Code #5 Territory. I had no swimsuit that fit (you may know of my aversion to shopping for swimsuits) so I wore a pair of short jean cut-offs and a big t-shirt. We hiked a half hour in the dark to the hot springs, and the smell of sulfur was horrendous.

But it was just like a hot tub, and I discovered within seconds that the water was intended for the sole purpose of engaging in NCMO as close to the real thing as it gets. I remember thinking that swimsuits leave nothing to the imagination, and how glad I was that I had jean shorts on, and a t-shirt on over my bra, not really conducive to good rubbing. We managed, however, to make out for hours (and rub too, I'll admit). It was what the whole date was for. There was no talking, just murmurs in the distance, and the darkness surrounded my date and me like we were alone. It was very seductive.

Of course the hike back was bad, because it felt so cold, and I was in those stinking jean shorts and big t-shirt, and I hated the stench. But I had with me after that a healthy knowledge of what was fun and nice about the body, and a very good idea of how nice the forbidden fruit might be to partake of. Apparently the temptation this knowledge brought me was too much for me to withstand for long.

The next guy I dated seriously was also from Montana, and we got along fairly well. I discovered quickly that once you pass a certain point physically in a relationship, it's impossible to revert back and not go as far. So our dating quickly became physical to the point of heavy petting, rubbing, and even some nudity. He was a returned missionary, and we both felt terribly guilty for what we were doing (all the time). Eventually he went to his bishop and I went to mine, to repent, and we decided that in order to stay good, we'd need to break up. Our relationship was mostly physical anyway. We didn't actually go all the way, but we were damn close, and we knew it. The breakup was easy because we weren't emotionally attached as much as we could have been.

Interjecting one particular memory of my dating the Montana guy...He and I went on a date, and when I got back, it was just after midnight (curfew was midnight according to the Honor Code, even for off-campus students) and I realized I had forgotten my key. I banged on the door over and over again. Then I went to a neighbor's (male) apartment and called. No answer. I was livid. I must have kicked that door and called them at least 10 times. There was no way they didn't hear me. In retrospect, I realize my sweet Utah sisters were trying to teach naughty Lisa a lesson. "You shouldn't be out with a BOY late at night, see what can happen??" I ended up walking to my boyfriend's apartment to tell him what had happened, and that I needed a place to stay. His roommates were very leery of this, since they knew the rules and were hesitant to break them. I finally convinced them that letting me crash on their couch was really preferable to turning a woman out on the streets late at night, and I promised I'd be good. My boyfriend even stayed away from me, probably since his roommates were up all night, watching him. A GIRL was out there. TEMPTATION!

Anyway, back to my Honor. I was sitting in my apartment one day doing homework, and I was enjoying the music someone was playing out into the courtyard. Our apartment complex was jokingly called The Fishbowl, because it was U shaped with three levels, and I was in the middle apartment on one side of the U on the third floor, and could see across at any apartment except those directly below mine. Everyone could see everyone. And our phone numbers were all the same, with the last two numbers being our apartment number. So I was sitting there, listening to Chicago singing their greatest hits, when suddenly I heard the music stop mid-song.

I jumped up just in time to see someone down in the middle apartment on the first floor pulling his big stereo speaker back in from his doorway. I ran to my phone and dialed his number. Some guy answered.

I said, "Put the speaker back in the doorway, and turn the music back on."

He said, "What did you say?!"

I repeated, "Put the speaker back in the doorway, and turn the music back on!"

I had never been so audacious or bold in all my life. I walked with the 20 foot phone cord to my open doorway, and there he was, standing in his open doorway, looking up, phone to his ear. Black hair, Hispanic, handsome as sin. He asked me "Why should I?"

"Because I love that song, and I'm not ready to stop listening to it yet."

He grinned, shook his head, and disappeared back into his apartment. Soon I saw a big, black speaker being pushed back out into the doorway. Sweet music filled the courtyard once again. He looked up at me and grinned. I grinned back, and went back to doing my homework, only this time I sat out on the bench beside my front door where I could keep an eye on this handsome stranger who did my bidding without a second thought. He came up to visit a little while later, and we talked for an hour. We had our first date the next night.

Whether it was the fact that I knew he was graduating college and headed back to Chile forever in a month, or the fact that I'd already gone as far as one can go before going all the way, and couldn't resist trying the same stuff with him, I'm not sure. I think I convinced myself I'd sin on a temporary basis with this non-LDS man, and then repent once he left -- it was probably a combination of all those ideas -- but I ended up losing my Sister Mary Lisa Purity with him, and it was difficult to feel guilty about something so grand. Besides, I was in love.

Rule #5 of the Honor Code had officially been broken all the way.

Then one day he was gone for good, first on a one-month tour of Europe, and then back to Chile, his home country. I had been devastated and listless and depressed ever since he left. It was hard to find the desire or energy to do anything meaningful. I didn't date anyone, I just worked and slept.

I was working at the Albertson's deli in Orem one day about a month after he left, and I opened the oven that was filled with sausages cooking in barbecue sauce. The fans blew the overpowering smell straight at me, and I was hit by a wave of nausea so hard that I ran to the back room and threw up.

That was the moment I realized I was pregnant.

Honor Code Rule #1 was necessary to break after that. There was no way in HELL I was going to explain the real reason for leaving to my holier-than-thou roommates, or to the school either. I told them I was leaving for medical reasons (which is in essence the truth, kind of) and moved back home to Montana.

The rest, as they say, is history.

There, Pete, my thoughts on the BYU Honor Code, per your request. Any questions?