Golden Plates: Tarnished

 Yesterday, I watched voyeuristically as my country acted the john to another media-Hallmark-florist-driven whore of a holiday. Having steered clear of the entire transaction myself, I had plenty of time to muse on the fact that it was a mutual-antipathy of VD that first watered the love blooming between Groom and me.

Oh, plus he owned a silver Honda hatchback, and I sported some fierce Dee Snyder spiral-perm curls. Those were also part of the initial shizzbang.

And we both liked toast.

Now, nine years later, the Honda has hit the road; the curls have curled up and died; the toast is toast; but, proudly, the antipathy pathies on.

Indeed, the grumpy question around our house is why do we need a day about celebrating love, when love is all around, no need to waste it? Mos’ def, we’ve always had a feeling we just might make it after all.

And yet. A recent interaction between Groomeo and me indicated that it might be time to starch my crinolines and rub a burnt match along my eyebrows, lest he stray West:

It was night, dark, but not stormy. For the second time in two years, we were watching public television’s documentary about the Mormons. This documentary is so hot, so smart, so sizzlin’ that it completely puts PBS’s special on home funerals in the corner. This documentary has some seriously smart talking heads in it, to the point that David Byrne should just crawl over into the corner, too, and commiserate with the home funeral program about what it feels like to be such losers. By the time the Mormon talking heads are done with you, you’ll be swearing the state of Utah needs to get some testicles, revert to open polygamy, and go back to living The Principle.

As the show lead into a not-a-commercial commercial, it snagged viewers with a teaser of what was to come in the next segment, which would explore the role Mormon women play in the church and in family life. The voiceover tantalized:

“The Mormon woman has long conveyed an image of perfection: she makes cookies, she always looks beautiful and impeccably groomed, she greets the world with an enormous beaming smile–”

Ever quippy, I interrupted, “Ohmigod, I’m totally a Mormon woman.”

Quite agreeably, Groom patted my arm with his Mitt and noted, “Yea, you do make cookies.”

Slap that on a card and lick it shut, Hallmark.

And if Groom ever leaves me for a lovely Mormon homemaker named Bev, I’m going to leave him right back for my Fine Gay Boyfriend, Bob Mould:



By Jocelyn

There's this game put out by the American Girl company called "300 Wishes"--I really like playing it because then I get to marvel, "Wow, it's like I'm a real live American girl who has 300 wishes, and that doesn't suck, especially compared to being a dead one with none."


  1. Dee Snyder spiral-perm curls are HAWT!

    My wife and I celebrated Valentine’s Day by her asking on a post-it if I would be her valentine and me writing underneath it “maybe.”

    That is one cool timer thingy up there on your sidebar, Jocelyn.

  2. Oh, you got me. Bob Mould, one of my heroes. I ever tell you about my band in Atlanta recording with David Barbie (former Sugar bassist)? I was like a moronic puppy following Dave around the studio asking him to recant Bob Mould stories nonstop.

  3. i got nothin.

    but, i’ll go for obvious and sympathy inducing:

    at least you’ve got someone to kind of imply that you don’t look like a perfect mormon wife…

    sniff! sniff!

  4. You both like toast. That’s funny!

    As for being a Mormon woman, I think not. It is funny that their teaser says almost exactly what my wife says – after having grown up Mormon. When they say she has “long conveyed an image of perfection”…my wife just says “it is more important to look good than to be good”.

    Guess you know why she stopped being a Mormon. LOL

  5. We got a ton of Mormons here. They are really nice, but they churn their children out through the mormon child-rearing factory. Some don’t make it and become strippers and n’er-do-wells.
    Curly hair comes in handy when you need to cover a bald spot or two.

  6. i gotta say i’d sooner never celebrate the day again that get another card featuring a joke about dog genitalia….lord have mercy.

  7. “And we both liked toast.”

    Sometimes baby, it’s the little things that are the glue that keep us together. 😉 You’ll ALWAYS have toast, even when sex begins to suck. HEE. * muah *

  8. I don’t care about Valentine’s Day, but don’t tell my husband I said that. He gets into these holidays, and if it means we’ll go out to listen to piano music at the nice bar that plays jazz, I’ll go happily. The young women I’ve met at my new job seem to view it as day of disappointment, and I find it redundant because our anniversary is four days later.

    Great video! I would not have recognized the song.

  9. I’d rather be a stripper than a morman.

    My marriage is toast, burnt beyond scraping and there’s no butter in the fridge.

  10. I don’t hate Valentine’s Day. This year my Groom got me some plants to kill and I got him a pound of really good truffles that I’ve been pilfering.

    What’s not to love?

  11. I just want you to know it took three whole minutes for me to realize you were talking about valentine’s day and not venereal diseases.

  12. We live right beside a florist and all I asked for from that store was a soft,pink teddy bear…and I actually got it! He doesn’t believe in this contrived idea of spend a bundle on roses so I figured I’d go for a sure $11 bear, which I told my neighbour/friend/store ownerto tell him I wanted!! HA! You’ve got to get up pretty early in the ….you know!

  13. Oh, you’ll love my school my friend’s (librarian) husband had a vascetomy on the 14th so naturally we were all joking about “V” Day. As all the Gr. 1,2,3 teachers were flooding the library to grab some lame book about Valentine;s Day, I was making him a picture book called, “V” is for… with drawings of him holding the frozen peas to his tender loins as the doctor directed! Too fuuny! Big hit in the staff room.

  14. Valetine’s day, well, it got me some extra bottles of booze, so that ain’t too shabby ;).
    We don’t partake either; the kids love their chocolate, but that’s about the extent of it.
    So that’s the secret ingredient, toast…

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