Watching: The Book Of Mormon


I debated over writing this review. Mostly because I like to keep things light on this blog. Also, I did not want to invite a debate over this play. Because it is not worth my time. I have all ready wasted money on it. I hate to waste time even more.

I also never want to discuss religion on this blog, because it is just not something I care to discuss.

I also choose not bring up sex on this blog for much the same reason. When my children are out of the house, I might loosen up a bit. But for now those are my rules.

And in talking about this play, I would unfortunately have to bring up both of those words.

So, I decided not to write a review.


Every time I turn on the television, there is a commercial advertising this production with words it does not, in my humble opinion, deserve.

I would feel I am not being true to myself to not put this review out there. This is simply my opinion of the play. I am quite sure based on the laughter in the theater many people would disagree with me. However, here it is. Just this once. Me breaking my rules:

In one word, I would describe The Book Of Mormon play as puzzling.

And not in a good way.

I had been wanting to see The Book Of Mormon, the musical, for years. I am not a fan of South Park, but I absolutely loved the musical Avenue Q.

I did not really know what this play was about. I just knew everyone seemed to love it. It had won multiple awards. It was heralded as funny. Probably a little raunchy. It sounded like a great date night pick.

Idiotically, I did not read any reviews. I wanted it to be a surprise.

And it was.

Just not in the way that I hoped it would be.

I naively thought the play would be about Mormon boys knocking door to door and the funny capers they would witness and be subject to at different people’s homes. That just made the most sense to me.

I was entirely wrong.

This play does not want to make sense.

It simply wants to break down censors.


I knew I was in trouble from the beginning. Everyone was laughing and whooping throughout the beautiful Pantages Theater. And I was sitting there stunned. Because, to me, it was incredibly offensive. I looked at my husband and he had the same disgusted look on his face.

It was unbelievable. I felt like I was on Candid Camera. Or as if I was in a tent where everyone had smoked the magic fungi and I had only managed to contract a fungus.

I found this play to be very degrading to a great many people. It is immature. It relies heavily on shock value. As an adult who never felt the need to make up pretend words for genitals for a dialect with my children, I could not find the humor. Add in some sentences strewn in concerning random maggots and frogs. And those were the extent of the “jokes.” If I were to describe this play, that is what I would say it is about. Sentences with genitalia shouted out streamed with a random object and the f-word.

I would say it wasn’t really about religion. Maybe a bit. A little background about me: I am not Mormon. When I first heard about Mormon boys (when I was a Junior in high school) going on a two year mission, I was incredibly excited. I thought they were going to go search out treasure. Or fight dragons. I was very disappointed when I learned what they would really be doing. Boys in white shirts are incredibly different than knights on white horses. However, as a mother, my heart is softened when I see these young men far from home. In their handsome starched button down shirts and ties. They tug at my heart strings. I might not believe in what they are doing, but I can emphasize with how homesick they must feel. And I always give them water or a snack when they come by. I do not let them in. Most of them just want to pet my dogs. They miss that little bit of home. I would want someone to treat my son the same way if he was in their shoes.

I also feel we should be respectful of everyone’s religion, no matter what we think of it. A little poke is fine. A giant shove is another thing entirely. With all of that said, I found the song with the chorus, “F*** You God!” extremely unnecessary.

And their betrayal of Africans… I just could not believe it. I could not believe they found actors willing to play the roles. They made Africans a sad caricature of a race. It was horribly degrading. The reason this play got a 2 from me out of 10, and not a 1, is simply because the female lead was incredibly talented. Her voice. Probably the best I had heard in any musical. It is a shame it was being wasted on f-bombs and frogs.

Other offenses were the jokes about raping babies and female circumscion. Maybe I took too many Ethics Classes in college (one topic that happened to be discussed over and over again was female circumcision), but I am ashamed that this play is so highly revered in America. What does that say about us?

I kept imagining I was in the middle of a split screen. On one side you have us Americans watching this play and rolling in our seats at the man pronouncing that he is going to go rape a baby to cure his AIDS. And then I imagined the other side of the screen being the mother that this actually happened to that very day. To her baby. And her watching us laughing at the play. And her grief increasing tenfold at the plight of the human race.

It made me furious.

According to statistics, in the time period that I sat and watched this play, 655 more people contracted HIV. I am sorry, but to me, that is not funny. Nor is the thought that people are so desperate to cure themselves they will resort to raping children. Even babies.

My husband and I both agree that this production should be giving back some of their proceeds to the plight in this world that they so easily and carelessly mock.

And even if the play was not offensive, the music was forgettable. The jokes were flat. The storyline dragged on and was unbearably boring.

There were children there! Children! You guys, one song had the entire African male cast each strap on a giant three foot… hose…On stage. And act out…acts. And use the f-word for the act. What the heck were those parents thinking?

However, the cast got a standing ovation. We stood… And we left. As I was leaving I overheard a young man say to someone else, “I love this play! I have seen it three times this week! I have the whole thing memorized.”

I just don’t get it.

Thank God.

I am in no way a prude. In my circle of friends I would be described as a good time. The one that almost always has to make a few phone calls on Sunday mornings to apologize for my behavior the night before. I also am not bothered by curse words. So, for me to find this play offensive, well, it should not be taken lightly.

But neither should AIDS.

Or rape.

Or the perils of the third world.

Now I’m off to go get some cream. This fungus is itchy. I would hate for it to spread.

Date Night: Silver Linings

Last night (Saturday), my husband and I embarked on a trip to celebrate his birthday. We went to a play at The Pantages Theater and out to dinner. Unfortunately, both the dinner and the play were really awful. I am not going to dwell on that, though. I just wanted to show the good from our night out. Because even a bad night has some good in it.


I saw this building and thought it looked like a giant robot trying to tell us something. I think I know now what he was trying to say.


The pattern on my Anthropologie Lace Study Dress looked just like the pattern in the sky.


Los Angeles at night.


The restaurant had Kung Fu Girl wine!!! I am not kidding! That made me smile.


Me, oblivious to the meal awaiting me.


Please. Please do not put blueberry compote in your creme brûlée. It is not as good as it sounds.


Me in front of The Pantages.


My son just downloaded a texting app on his Kindle. We don’t let our children get cell phones until they turn thirteen. Texting him was the highlight of my evening. He kept cracking me up and making me smile with his sweet notes. I am sure you are happy I am not sharing the elaborate description of Ollie farting that he sent me.



The gorgeous Pantages Theater.


My best bite of the night.

Have you gone on a date night recently? Where did you go?


P.S. I am writing this at 1:00 on Sunday morning. It is my husband’s actual birthday today and I want to work hard to make sure it is better than last night. If I do not respond to comments from yesterday and today’s posts today, I promise to do so Monday during my giveaway. Thank you so much!

Have a beautiful silver-lining day!

The Mission Project From H%!#


In California, every child in the fourth grade is required to do a project on a mission. So, basically, parents all around California are elbow deep in glue and tears throughout the month of April.

I had dreaded the impending mission project for months.

My husband told me he would do the project this year. Score! It was a series of four projects. They completed the first three items quickly, but had saved the biggest project for last. This was, to build a replica of the mission assigned to the child.

They had two months to complete it. Which would have been fine, had the date not have been changed. It was originally due May 20th. This is how I found out the date had been changed:

The afternoon of May 2nd, I picked up my child from school. I noticed quite a few children leaving the grounds with elaborate mission projects in their hands. I began to grow alarmed. The dread crept from my heart and trickled down my back.

“Hey, when is your mission project due?” I asked my son.

“Oh, not until May 3rd,” he responded.

Time stood still. My voice became squeaky with terror, “That’s tomorrow.”

No response. Just big eyes staring at me from the back seat. We drove home in panicked silence.

My husband was at work and would not be getting home until long after the children’s bedtime. I was mad…

And that is all I am going to say about that. Oh, and my son was grounded…for forever.

I knew we had five hours to get some sort of mission completed. Let’s begin by holding hands and agreeing I am not good in a crisis. I found the pizza box from the night before. I began frantically ripping it apart. Oh? They had cheese and marinara tile flooring in missions? Yup, I bet you never knew that.


Once I had my base, I wracked my brain for an idea. I quickly began searching the house for materials. My husband was going to build a Lego mission with my son. I immediately scrapped that idea. I only had five hours. So, I grabbed my box of Q-tips and raced to my pizza box. As I began stacking the qtips and trying to glue them together, my children gathered around me and began mocking my idea.

“Oh, my God! What are you doing? Q-tips? Really mom?” my daughter taunted.

My son, being more invested in the project, began shaking his head. “No, mom. Just No.”

I threw the Q-tips to the side. I tore the doors to my pantry open. A bright beam of light shone down from the heavens. It landed on my three boxes of graham crackers. And all was right with the world.


I grabbed one box and began ripping it open. I started hot glueing two graham crackers together all over the table. I let these sit and dry. Then I picked them up and began glueing them together to make the walls. Yes! It worked perfectly…

I am lying.

The graham crackers disintegrated where the two ends met the glue. It was a gloppy sad mess…I am so mad! I have to write the company! How dare these treats meant to be eaten and digested by children not stand up to hot glue. The very idea.


Then a brilliant plan formed: I could make rice krispie treats! I had just enough marshmallows for two giant batches. Those would stick together and we could roll it and cut it into shape. This might be okay. I grabbed my marshmallows from the pantry. And then gasped as large stale marshmallows flew across the kitchen floor. One of my lovely children had decided to open the bag and eat a marshmallow many weeks ago. And then left the bag open. Wasn’t that kind of them? Wasn’t that lovely? The image of the beautiful marshmallow cereal oasis dissolved in my head.

Thirty minutes had passed. My head was spinning. There was only one option left… Legos. Oh, I guess there were two. But I hate cutting cardboard more than I hated the project.

I have never built a Lego.

I have never built a Lego.


I quickly realized this after every single one of my fingernails had broken off separating all of the white legos in my son’s collection. I tried to put them together for a base and the pieces would not fit together. I pulled my knees to my chest and started sobbing. How was I going to get this done? The reality hit me that I probably wasn’t. And the failure of our parenting crushed my soul with its sorrow.

My daughter stepped in. As she does. She happens to be the only capable one in the family. And I am so grateful.

“I’ll build it with him, mom,” she said.

Actually, what she really said was, “You Idiots! I’ll build it.” She gets rather frustrated with tears.

At this point, I wasn’t going to get mad at her observation. It was true. My house looked like a chimpanzee had ran rampant. I moved over so she could start.

“I will work on this until 8:00. I have to do my homework at 8:00. If I do not have the red roof started by 7:00, then you can panic.” She told me in her matter-of-fact voice.


I set off to the kitchen to make her favorite dinner. The kids worked together on that project for the next three hours. At 8:00, the roof was not on. But that was okay.



It was not the fanciest mission that ever was. It does not really look all that much like the real building. Most mission projects are ten times this size. He will be lucky to get a “C.” But I can honestly say no parent hands built this. It was the work of my two children. Regardless of what grade he receives, I am very proud of it. I am incredibly proud of my daughter for stepping up to the challenging situation. Her work on it was all that held this project together. It was all that held me together.

This little mission was built from tears, broken fingernails, sibling love, and pure frantic motivation. There never was one so beautiful.

And I am not speaking of the mission.